The Past Repeats Itself
by J-Beatrice.Thomas
Summary: On that fateful day when George bumped into a frumpy teenager, he never imagined that she'd turn up at the house.... bearing cake. Some 'bad language' and references. Series 1 spoilers.
1. Chapter 1 The Girl

**The Past Repeats Itself**

_Chapter 1 – The Girl_

The early Sunday-morning sky was a cold, crisp blue and not something one wanted to see waking up in the middle of a wood, clothe-less. Wised, however, to the routine of wax and wane, George had left some clothes in the little shed, as instructed by Tully some weeks earlier. The idea was that both he and Nina would transform in isolation together, but the overprotective George had pointed out "What if we're not the same as werewolves? What if we end up ripping each others throats out?", so they transformed separately, swapping places each month. At the bottom of the carrier bag he'd used for his clothes, George found a packet of wet wipes and a post-it with a shopping list on it. '_Thanks Annie,'_ he thought _'I'm experiencing the most painful process known to man, and you give me a shopping list. Unbelievable!' _George didn't use the wet-wipes out of pride and spite, and instead headed towards civilisation.

Not long afterwards, George was stomping down Cheapside St, not far from the terrace, when the bag split and everything fell all over the pavement. '_I don't believe…'_

"Hey, hey!" George had spotted a girl on the other side of the street, next to the fish and chip shop, and was not about to pass up on getting someone to help him pick up the shopping, especially when there was nobody else about at this time.

"I don't s'pose you could help me?" He waved his arms frantically and beckoned to the teenager who looked shocked, then amused, then shocked again. She turned to go, then ran round the corner. _'Stupid stranger-danger rubbish.'_

"Hey, I'm not the paedo, it was the other one!" he yelled after her. Deciding that he didn't care about the shopping, George continued on, before guiltily doubling back to struggle home without a carrier bag.

The event, however, was soon forgotten and George only remembered it when taking a walk with Nina after work. They were in Queen's Square, strolling around the central lawn, when George saw a flash of sky blue in the unusually empty street. He squinted a little, looking in the direction of the statue at the centre of the square, then saw more clearly what it was. The young teenager from the other day was staring at him. He looked more closely than before, noting her rather 1940's style clothes of a blue floral-print tea dress, grey cardigan and a hair style to match. '_Dark hair'_, he noted. He put his hand up in recognition which she, tentatively, returned.

"Who are you waving to?" Nina asked, whilst trying to peer round George's torso.

"Her." George pointed at the place the girl had been before realising that she was no longer there. "Oh, just some girl I kind of know, she was there just a moment ago."

"Oh, I see," said Nina, drawing away a little "it's like that then, 'just some girl I kind of know'? C'mon what's with her?" She did feel annoyed, though really she was just pushing George's buttons.

"No, I didn't mean it like that..." They bickered all the way back to the house until Nina sniggered and George got the joke. He took a swipe at her with a flat palm.

"Careful," Nina giggled "that makes you look very camp!" Sighing, George kissed her on the forehead and went into the house. He stopped in the hall, slumped, and turned and beckoned to her, before going into the kitchen. George saw Annie dash into the garden to give them some privacy.

It was some hours before the three were all together again. Mitchell came in late from God knew where, and George had forgotten to tell Annie that she could come in again, even though Nina was long gone. At the sound of the door opening and closing, George awoke and clumped downstairs, bleary-eyed. Annie came in, shivering

"You must have finished by now, you two."

"Oh yeah, ages ago, she went back, I went to bed. Don't tell me you've been standing out there all that time! Have you?" Annie simply rolled her eyes at him and went to sit with her back the radiator.

"So, how was your _date _with young Nina then?" Asked Mitchell, eyebrows jumping up and down. The innuendo passed the sleepy George by.

"Young? Why is there a need to call her young? Anyway, it's not like that."

"Oh, George," Mitchell teased "that could mean one of two things: you are either all scruffy because you've had a 'good time' with your girlfriend tonight, or you've had a tiff with Nina 'cos you're frigi…" The newly-installed door bell rang. Three heads all snapped towards the origin of the noise.

"It's silly really," said Annie "he's dead, properly dead, but I still don't like answering the door." She got up and moved behind Mitchell whilst George unhooked the latch and peeked round. He jumped back, making Annie squeak, and flung the door wide as he did so. It was not Herrick, or any other vampire, but the girl. Holding a cake.

"Time for some explanations." She said, before stepping inside.


	2. Chapter 2 Emiline

_Chapter 2 – Emiline_

The over-confident move was cut short when she spied Mitchell, tensed, squared up, and a frightened Annie behind on the stairs. The moment only lasted an instant however, and the taken-aback expression was replaced by a rather charming smile, which relaxed all three of them, despite the odd situation. Only George remained at all uncomfortable.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he asked "I mean, well, um." He spluttered

"Surely, George, the question should be 'Who the hell are you?' not 'What are _you _doing here'. It makes it sound like you already know her, whoever she is." Annie had regained her confidence.

"Well thanks a lot Annie, now she'll know my name and everything."

"_She _happens to be here, and _she _has a name. _She _isalso carrying a chocolate cake, which is beginning to feel heavy. May I?" She gestured towards the kitchen with her eyes, but didn't wait for permission. She just went on through and set the rather elaborate cake on the table. Annie gave George a rather stern look and mouthed 'What?', but George just shrugged. Only Mitchell seemed to be un-perturbed by the incident and, clearly imagining cake and coffee, followed her, his nose going first. The others followed suit.

"So, um, about this explanation thing," began Annie "_who _are you?" For the first time, the girl looked a little sheepish

"Well, that could be interpreted as quite a philosophical question, but, err, oh the hell; my name is Emiline. I am a ghost who died in the early 1950's wearing an old dress of my mother's. But well, nobody can see me. Except for you," she said, pointing at George "and I suppose you too, and you. I haven't talked to anyone in years, decades in fact. I'm a little out of practice with it actually."

"I wouldn't have guessed." George muttered under his breath, but everyone ignored it.

"I, the other day, I saw – George is it? - in Queen's Square. No, _he saw_ _me_ a couple of roads away. And then he called out. The shopping bag had broken, and he wanted me to help, but I was so shocked. Imagine, you're completely invisible for years and years, and then suddenly someone tries to talk to you. I couldn't even make a sound back; my voice was so out of practice. Then he waved to me in Queen's Square today, and I followed him back here."

Nobody broke the silence; it was all so weird. Honestly, being threatened by blood-thirsty vampires, getting special powers, all of that just seemed plain normal compared to this. Because in a way this was regular, a conversation between a visitor and everyone else. It was the sort of thing you did when you were alive only…

Annie burst into a fit of giggles, and everybody looked at her.

"You've got to be joking! Right? Which one of you set this up?" she gestured to the boys and then flopped down into a chair. "I mean, a ghost, from the 1940's, follows George home and brings a _cake_?"

"She's not lying Annie," Mitchell said "she's a ghost alright, she's got no smell." That just made her laugh even more. "I'm serious!" so was his tone. Annie stopped her giggling, and then swallowed hard.

"You are? Oh. I'd better make some tea then."


	3. Chapter 3 Explanations

_Chapter 3 - Explanations_

"You're kidding me right?" George looked as if he were about to add something else, then coughed, shook his head and threw up his hands as if in surrender. It was almost as if he were saying 'Ok, I give up, this is just too damn weird.'

They were all sat in the lounge, the boys balancing plates of cake and cups of tea on their knees. Annie was sat down too; 'Emiline' was standing by the window, glancing outside regularly.

"Let me get this straight," Annie said "you saw George, and he saw you, right?" the girl nodded "and so, you got thinking that it was strange, and you wanted to know how he could? So, you followed him back to the house and then, then, you… You went back to your house and you _baked a cake!?"_ This made Mitchell snort, seeing the silliness of it all and hearing the near hysteria in Annie's voice.

"Yes." Was all she said in reply. Mitchell snorted again, and then laughed properly, shaking and slopping tea all over the floor. He had been the only one to remain completely silent until then.

"And you're…" she pointed to the two boys who turned their heads towards her "a vampire and a werewolf?" The disbelief was apparent.

"You know," George mused "I have always wondered why the order's always 'a vampire and a werewolf.' Couldn't it be 'a vampire a werewolf and a ghost.', or even 'a werewolf, a ghost and a vampire.'? It wouldn't hurt to change it round sometimes."

"Yeah, that's right, that's about the size of us." It was the first time that Mitchell had spoken directly to the girl. "Just while we're you know, here, can we call you something a little shorter like 'Emma'? Or something?"

"You _can_, but you _may not. _I won't answer, even if you do." She grinned "I don't suppose that will make much of a difference though." Annie suddenly looked up.

"How did you die?" The room went silent; the smile faded from Emiline's face, the atmosphere was suddenly tense. "Don't want to talk about it? Ok." As if just brushing the question away. Emiline said

"Whilst we're on that topic… Mitchell can I, um, feel your pulse?" She blurted out the last part "I know Annie and I don't have them, George will of course, but… you have a solid, proper body and I can't quite convince myself that there isn't _something _going on." Mitchell held out his arm and pulled his sleeve back as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Truth was, he was getting used to that request, Josie had asked similar of him when they had first been together.

"Be my guest."

She extended a tiny white hand towards the wrist, pressed cold light fingers against it. In that moment there was no discomfort, no hesitation, and no inhibitions. Annie and George watched, but they themselves were not there, not included in the scene, and could not interact with it or react to it. Something happened then, something that could have been called magical. Mitchell could feel that strange, unreal cold that came from touching a ghost, Emiline that solid, material one that was all a vampire's. She waited; there was no pulse, no rhythm of life. Yet his living eyes were on her, drinking it all in, as if the thirst were for sight and not for blood. She lifted her hand away, just a fraction of a centimetre, but he grabbed it back, clasping it in his own. He recognised something of her, he _knew_ her, though he could not have done. Her eyes were like saucers and…

"I have never been able to believe that a ghost has no pulse either." In truth, he was desperate for the moment to come back. There had been purity in it, like that of a single perfectly sung note which resonated. He was unable to recapture it, his nature suddenly violent. He pulled up her sleeve, and pressed his fingers to her veins. Then he jerked his hand up again and stared at the wrist, whilst she leaned away from him, her other hand over her face.

"When I was 18." She said

"What? What is it?" The energy in the room became intense and frantic George leaned over to see, and Annie bolted to peer over the back of the sofa, trying to understand. Mitchell traced the lines with a finger, the flicker of recognition coming again. 'So young,' he thought 'just too bloody young.'

"Why did you do it?" Mitchell asked "Why did you kill yourself?"

"Let go. Oh please let go. You'll, well, just let go. Please!" If anything Mitchell tightened his vice-like grip on her hand. He was shocked, and sad, and really, really angry.

"_We_ all had our lives taken away from us!" He yelled "George got scratched by a werewolf whilst out walking. I gave myself up to save my men in the trenches. And Annie, well, she was bloody _murdered_. Her fiancé threw her down the stairs! There's still a crack in the floor tile where she hit her head."

"Mitchell, don't." But it was no use

"She'd done nothing wrong at all she was brutally killed! But you, you! You had it all ahead of you, but you just threw it all away, you selfish, selfish… What was it all about? Useless parents? Unrequited love? Some hopelessly romantic gesture of adoration which went too far?

Shit! Don't think I'm not jealous that you had the bloody choice, but you people just make me sick. You take it all for granted and then just expect we unlucky ones to sympathise when you've screwed it up. We never got to choose!" He was the opposite of the man who had let the ghost feel for his pulse. The utter peace of that moment was now forgotten and would only be remembered with hindsight, too late.

"Mitchell," it was Annie, talking softly, trying to keep the tremble of fear out of her voice "I'm sure she could explain, if you just let her." She stroked his hair absent-mindedly, desperate to calm or placate him. The motion itself did not console him, but he had at last vented a little of the rage that had built up inside him since the discovery of Owen's crime. This was as much about Annie as anything else. He looked down again at the entrapped hand and sighed before flinging Emiline's hand away and yelling.

"What?" George had remained silent through this, almost disappeared, but now remembered his existence beyond observer. Mitchell was staring, and so was Annie. George followed their gaze back her hand again. The cuts seemed almost to be glowing. 'No, he thought, that's not right, they're _glistening_.' What had a minute ago seemed to be just normal scars were now looking as if they'd only just been made. The blood began to run and the girl clasped her wrist. George couldn't help thinking that her hand had made a slightly wet slap as she did. Emiline staggered, then closed her eyes and steadied herself. The other three watched her, static. Her forehead creased with a sort of concentration.

A minute or so passed, and when the girl took her hand away from the cuts, they were gone. Not even any blood was left to show that the event had happened.

"Whoa, hold on here," said George "would anyone like to tell me what the hell is going on?"


	4. Chapter 4 More Explanations

_Chapter 4 – More Explanations_

"I bleed whenever I think about what I did." Said Emiline

"I didn't just mean the whole spurting thing, I meant," the thing was, George was no longer sure what he had meant, or where up was for that matter "Oh just start at the beginning."

"Sounds good to me," said Annie "seems to me like we just bumped in at the middle." Mitchell was still seething, but he couldn't completely let go of the sense of concern for Emiline. He was also slightly morbidly interested.

"I was one of two children, both of us girls. We were lucky, I suppose. Our family was rich and we both went to a wonderful boarding school like something out of children's literature. All midnight feasts and saying 'topping' and 'oh, that's wizard'.

We weren't completely happy though; my father was very traditional and was always angry with our mother for giving him girls and angry at us for not being boys. My mother couldn't have any more children.

My depression started when I was about thirteen, and it became very serious very fast. They noticed it when I wouldn't get out of bed at school, wouldn't even respond. They thought I had some horrible illness, so they called for the doctor. He was too stupid to see what was really going on, so had me sent home. It took me weeks and weeks to recover. My father wouldn't send for a doctor and my mother just had to watch me getting thinner as I ate less and less.

Then my sister was called home because they thought I might even die. She was kind and cleverer than my parents and somehow she made me better, made me happier. She'd always had that ability. I caught up on the school work I had missed and then went back after the Christmas holidays. Everyone just put the event out of their heads.

I suffered on and off from unhappiness for a couple of years, but nothing as serious as before. I was just really sad that the world was so horrible. I couldn't bear to think that I was having this wonderful education and privileged life whilst people were starving over the other side of the world. Then I felt guilty that I had this nice, easy life and wasn't at least enjoying it, just wasting it.

I was 15 going on 16 when I got my next bout of it. Somebody recognised it this time and put me on some sort of medication. Whatever it was, it didn't work. They had to send me home again at one point, but I begged to go back to school; working hard was the only way I could blot it all out. The depression became introverted then; it was no longer about how much I was sorry about the world, it was just depression for its own sake. And a deep self-hatred. I went up and down, up and down for ages. I lost all my friends because of it. I was just so wrapped up in the depression that I couldn't include them in my life, but at the time I saw it as them deserting me.

When I was at home during the summer holidays I was asked to go to the pictures by the son of a family friend. He was only a couple of years older than me and was nice enough I suppose, but I wasn't interested. I went unwillingly, still trying to disguise my misery from my parents who would only have made it worse. We went to the pictures every Sunday for weeks. Then he asked my parent's permission to marry me without even proposing to me first. I was livid, but I turned his offer down as nicely as I could. We'd never kissed. We'd never even held each other. I'd stopped believing in love.

So I returned to school for my last year and despite my worsening condition, I got good marks in my exams – how, I'll just never know. I got a place at Exeter University, but my father forbade me to go; he wanted me to restart my relationship with that boy and marry him, but I wouldn't. I went back home for summer, and got worse and worse.

Then I saw an opening of opportunity. Before all I could think of was either marrying with someone I didn't even like and having some dreary life not allowing myself to feel anything, or staying like this and feeling too much. I got out of bed and told my family I was going to plan a trip to a friend's house. My mother and sister were thrilled.

I booked myself in at the local hotel, wearing an old dress of my mother's. There was an important reason for that, but I can't remember it. I wrote my notes, stamped and addressed them, and put them in the post, even though they would have been easier to just leave in the room. I had all my medical papers and an explanation apologising to whoever found me, with some money for the hotel in case I'd damaged anything. I was very thorough. Then I went into the bathroom with the razor blade I'd bought. I didn't do it in the bathtub, being found in the water, without any clothes just sounded to horrible, but I thought it would be easier to clean blood off the tiles than the carpet. Then I…" It was the first time she'd faltered "I cut my wrists, and killed myself. Then I realised how stupid I'd been and I cried at my own funeral, but of course it didn't help, I was dead." Nobody said anything for a while. Annie looked at Emiline

"You didn't love anyone? Not at all? Not a bit?"

"No. Wait, there was, well something. I didn't love him, and he didn't even know I existed, but he was fascinating. I kept away from him because I knew there was something, um, wrong with him. That's what drew me to him though, a sense of the macabre. He worked at that hotel, he found me. Ironic isn't it? But I didn't love him, I didn't believe in love, and still don't. Not true love in any case." George, tactful as ever, blurted out

"You're just like Gilbert." Seeing the look on the others' faces, he really wished he hadn't said it. Emiline was quick to the mark though

"You can't mean, it's not possible that… Do you mean Gilbert, the boy from the 1980's who dances to 'The Smiths' and shouts insults at policemen?"

"Yeah, you know him?" asked Annie

"He's my younger cousin, born after I died of course. He was the only one who could see me, only as a child that is. Maybe I was the one who taught him that love didn't exist, I don't know. I was there when he died. I tried to look after him, but he told me to leave him alone and never try to find him again. I never did."

"Well, that explains a lot." George said, although it was somewhat ambiguous as to what he meant.

Emiline, George and Annie got up and went into the kitchen with the intention of having more tea. Only Mitchell stayed behind. He was slouched, chin in hands, elbows on knees. A great wave of desperation came over him, and he felt angry once more, though not with Emiline. She was blameless in this, but somehow he felt responsible. 'Don't be irrational' he thought 'how could you be anything to do with it?' but still he felt the pressing sense of guilt. He flung himself off of the sofa and dashed upstairs.

"Mitchell, you ok?" It was Annie, and Mitchell cursed the fact that he couldn't just zap upstairs silently as she could.

"Yeah, I've got something I have to do. Just remembered."

"Will you come down after?"

"Don't think so, I'm exhausted."

"Oh, well 'night then."

"G'night." He had nothing to do, nothing at all. He just got into bed without taking his clothes or even shoes off, and pulled the covers over his head. '_This desperation is infectious,_' he thought '_it's like I've caught it off her._' He could hear them still talking downstairs, most probably picking apart their own lives '_and deaths._'


	5. Chapter 5 Repetition, repetition

_Chapter 5 – Repetition, repetition_

It was decided that, if she wanted, Emiline should be welcomed into the little pink house. She jumped at the chance, saying

"You've no idea how lonely it gets, and that's when I've got people living in my old house." She didn't have possessions to move, of course, but had hidden away a folder of photographs and birth and death certificates of her family.

"It's all I have, truly, and I don't want to forget them." She'd said.

"Don't feel embarrassed," Mitchell had replied, and had then muttered to her ear "I mean, Annie kept a parsley grinder, or something equally weird. Only don't tell her I told you that." He'd almost completely recovered from the other night and had pushed the event out of his head.

The first day Emiline had as a proper member of the household, she spent alone. George and Mitchell had work and Annie was having too much fun going out and being seen by living people to stay in.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Annie'd said before leaving the house.

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You don't need anything, won't get bored here all alone? You can come out with me if you'd like to."

"No, no, I was… going to look through my photographs again. It's been quite a while and, well I'd prefer to be alone."

"Right, um, see you later then, uh, bye." She'd left, but not before warning Emiline that Mitchell would be home a little earlier than usual.

Now she was on her own. All on her own. It felt terrible. Once again, Emiline was all by herself with her thoughts and it seemed as though there had been no point in coming to this house after all. She wasn't angry or upset with any of the members of this little household, but she was still lonely and the need for contact was as strong as ever. She got out the photo album, however, and began to turn the pages, looking hard at each of the pictures.

It's amazing how much time one can waste just looking through old memories (especially when those memories are quite literally from another lifetime) and, as Annie had warned, Mitchell soon burst through the door. He found her in the corner, crouched over the book, dripping blood all over the floor. He wasn't angry, or even frustrated, but felt a wave of pity and compassion as one feels for an injured child.

"Oh, you shouldn't have let us leave you alone." He said, and made as if to go to her.

"It's natural Mitchell," she said "you should know that."

"What d'you mean?" He stopped, a little confused and uncomfortable.

"You've been around long enough, haven't you? You were there, in the trenches, and you saw the Second World War too. You saw everybody make the same mistakes all over again, and you'll still see it now, if you look properly. War in Iraq, recession all over again, inflation, all of it and more. There's so much repetition. People make the same little mistakes as well, over and over again in their own lifetimes. I'm willing to bet that you've done it too: you've killed and promised it'll be the last time, and it never will be. You've walked away from and wrecked so many relationships, you…"

"How did you know that?"

"You'd be surprised what is possible to pick up. Nobody told me directly, if that's what you mean."

"Go on, then." Mitchell was interested in where this was going. He could sense already that this girl was more than she might seem on the outside, and felt that she was about to say something vitally important.

"Oh, I've lost the thread of what I was saying now; I can't imagine it was very interesting."

"No, it was, really. You were saying how I'd probably killed lots of people and ruined the lives of everyone I've loved."

"Oh, how cruel of me! Did I really say that? In any case, I can't remember what I was going to say."

"No, at least not in those precise words, but if you had said that, you'd have been right." He wished he hadn't been so damned cagey about what she'd said; it was almost certain that this conversation would never be re-visited. Her wrists healed up and all traces of the blood had gone. He crossed to her and slid down next to her, as he had done so many times with Annie. She tensed – unused as she was to any form of contact, especially that of a physical nature – but relaxed again as Mitchell put his arm around her shoulders. It was the most comfortable interaction she'd had for some time. Emiline looked at hand that was trailing from her shoulder.

"You know, you have rather dirty fingernails for someone who works in a hospital. I'm a little surprised they let you get away with it."

"They don't have time to scrutinise the entire hospital staffs' hands."

"I suppose not." She brushed Mitchell's fingertips with her own, once, twice. That strange purity entered Mitchell's mind again '_is this what paradise is like?_' he thought, and then wondered where it had come from. It sounded a little clichéd and gooey for him. It occurred to Mitchell that this girl was probably a complete virgin, but pushed the thought away, telling himself that it was really none of his business and that it didn't matter anyway. '_It is rather attractive though… No, no, shut up; just keep your nose out of this. She'd probably die if she knew what you're thinking. If she weren't dead already that is.'_

He let his eyes trail down to the album open on Emiline's lap and smiled a little.

"You?" he pointed. She nodded.

"With my sister, on holiday when I was about 10 years old. My father didn't come with us that year, and we were so happy." Then Mitchell noticed what had brought about the reaction of Emiline's cuts; there, in-between the pages, was a birth and death certificate for a 'Maude Emiline Woods'.

"Maude? Maude!"

"Oh don't, not even my parents ever called me that. It was the name of some aunt of mine." But something was coming back to Mitchell, something from a very long time ago. He couldn't remember properly, but the name rang a bell, and loudly for that matter. It was too unusual to forget. He knew it wasn't the name of an actress or anything like that, and he knew that there was nobody else around with any name that sounded even similar. '_Now, where the bloody hell have I heard that name before?_' It was horribly frustrating.

"Do you always put the heating on so high?" she said, wriggling around

"What can I say? I have low body temperature."

"Well, I'll have to take my cardigan off." She wriggled some more, fighting with the garment. Mitchell froze

"You can take off your clothes?"

"Well, of course I can. Has Annie never taken off her shoes or anything before?" He shook his head. '_Don't you dare, don't ask it. Don't even think it. Do NOT bloody well ask her if it's just her jacket that she can take off. Don't, just don't. It's none of your business."_

"Um, Emiline, can you? would you like to..." he trailed off, and grinned sheepishly. Emiline looked at him, confused.

"What," she said, narrowing her eyes.


	6. Chapter 6 Perfume

_Chapter 6 - Perfume_

"Oh, just scream will you!" Mitchell thumped the cushion next to him "that's all you have to do. Just… oh, I give up." He rolled over nearly falling off the sofa, then sat up and mopped the sweat from his brow.

"Right, the heating is on a bit high, isn't it?"

"Well if you don't like the film, turn the tele off." Annie said.

"I think I will."

"Well do it then."

"Right." He picked up the remote and zapped the screen. They'd been watching the film '_Perfume_', and Mitchell had become frustrated with the girl – Laura's – apathy.

"I mean, she's lying there, right? And she sees him standing there with a knife? She gets all awake and blinks and then she just lets him murder her!" Annie sighed.

"Shame," said George "I was just getting into that."

"You were just getting into it and it was nearly at the end?" Annie asked "I saw this before with Owe… when I was alive. He didn't think it was that good, but I kinda liked it."

"Nearly the end? It was just getting to the exciting part!"

"I find it hard to believe that you 'kinda liked it'. It's about a deranged bloody serial killer for god's sake! How can you just 'kinda like it'?" That was Mitchell.

At that moment, Emiline came into the living room. The household had more or less forgotten about her for the moment, and were somewhat surprised at her entrance. Mitchell remembered how had caught himself at the last moment, and was extremely relieved that he had. Instead of ending his sentence as he had intended, he'd simply said:

"Um, would you, err, make me some coffee?" He silently cursed the fact he'd even thought, well, what he had thought, and vowed never to do so again. In truth, he felt embarrassed and ashamed. He'd known girls about as Victorian as her, live ones too. Though, they hadn't all stayed alive for that long…

"I've always found it strange how ghosts never have a smell." Though he would never have admitted it, the film they had been watching had had an effect on him – the idea of capturing the scent of a girl, of a permanent record of that which provokes the most potent and powerful sense. The olfactory was possible the most emotive of all the human senses, with even the hint of something being able to bring back the most traumatic or beautiful moments of a single life. Of course, Mitchell's heightened vampire senses were able to pick up much more than those of a human, and it had always slightly disturbed him that was no solid scent to a ghost. True, you could sometimes catch a whiff of tea or hand cream around Annie, but they weren't really _real_. If you were to go at it with a piece of scientific equipment, you'd get nothing, and Mitchell well knew that – the particles that made up a ghost didn't exist in the normal world.

Emiline had either not heard the comment, or had ignored it, because she just went over to sofa to clear the pile of coffee and tea cups that was mounting up on the floor.

"Would anyone like any tea?" she said

"I'll do it, don't worry!" Annie zapped from the living room to the kitchen midway through the sentence, and it had been a little weird to hear her voice coming first from one side of the house, then the other. Emiline looked confused.

"She can get a little territorial about tea-making," said George "I wouldn't worry about it." Emiline nodded and returned the mugs to the kitchen without staying in the room too long.

"So, what about the fact you find it strange that you can't, well, _smell me_?" So she had heard him then.

"Yeah, well, I can smell everything else. My senses might not be as strong as George's, but I can still tell when someone's cut their hand down the hospital corridor, I know when it's going to rain, I even know when George and Nina have been…"

"Yeah, 'kay Mitchell, we get the idea." George said.

"You can smell blood? All the way down the corridor?" Emiline swallowed

"Of course, I _am _a vampire."

"So, say you were at the hotel, when I… if you'd been outside my room when it happened, you would have been able to smell it."

"Yes, I could've saved you." But Mitchell's mind was racing; he was almost there, he knew who she was, he knew everything, if only he could… _'LIAR!' _his brain screamed, blocking out all other thoughts _'you've lied to us. How could you? How could you mislead me?' _He couldn't work out what he was thinking about. God this was frustrating!

"Gotta go!" he dashed upstairs in a way that was most unbecoming, especially for the normally-suave vampire. Emiline looked questioningly at George, who just shrugged.

Upstairs, locked in the bathroom, Mitchell fought the urge to vomit. '_How stupid_' he thought '_that a vampire should need to throw up._' Everything felt close and claustrophobic. '_Why is she torturing me like this? How is she doing it?' _He lurched forward, falling onto his face_ 'Does she even know?_'

"Is he okay?" Emiline asked. They were all stood, staring up the stairs.

"Dunno; he's never done this before. Well, nothing quite like this." George replied.

"I'm sure he's fine," said Annie "I'd know if he wasn't."


	7. Chapter 7 Tittletattle

_Chapter 7 – Tittle-Tattle / You're wasting my time_

Again, Mitchell suffered, again he ignored it. The next morning, everything was back to normal (at least, as much as it could be in this house), and initially nobody said anything about his strange behaviour the previous day. He could no longer just pretend to himself that it hadn't happened, however, the force of the most recent event being stronger than the first one. It could not be ignored that something was going on with this girl, and that whatever it was, it was hurting him (but thankfully, only him). She was clearly not as white-and-shiny as she seemed, though Mitchell felt sure that she was unaware of the effect that she was having on him. '_She's blameless,_' his head kept saying '_whatever else she may have done that we don't know about,_ "Coffee Mitchell?" _whatever she's done wrong, whatever she's lied about…_"Mitchell?" _ she's still blameless in this._'

"Mitchell! I'm talking to you." Said Annie "Do you want a coffee or not?"

"Um… yeeahhh…"

"Mitchell, what the hell is so interesting that you won't even talk to us over breakfast? Actually, I don't want to know; the last time I saw a guy look like that, I found out that he just wanted to get inside my knickers!" Mitchell was suddenly very glad that Emiline wasn't in the room; he didn't think he could bear ghost-embarrassment right now.

"What? No! I'm just tired, Annie, that's all. Wasn't thinking about anything much."

"Tired? Mitchell, have you got any idea how early you went to bed last night?" He shrugged. "No I suppose not. Mitchell, it was only about 8 o'clock when you went up. We all waited for you to come back down, but you didn't. Emiline went up in the end; she said she thought she'd upset you earlier and wanted to make sure you were alright. She told us that she knocked several times and that when she eventually peeked her head 'round your door, she could just see a lump in your bed and your hair sticking out from under the covers. That was only a quarter to 9 or something. What's going on?"

"What? Nothing, Annie. I mean… no, nothing's wrong."

"Ha, so you've as good as admitted to it then." Mitchell looked confused "I never said there was anything wrong Mitchell; I just asked what was going on." Mitchell gave her a surprisingly evil look and was about to start up with the 'Nothing's, bloody wrong' again when Annie said

"We're all worried about you Mitchell. _All _of us." Mitchell realised that the stress on the '_All_' had been completely intentional and there to make a point. So Emiline was worried too was she? As she might well be. _'Don't be like that; she didn't do this too you. It's NOT HER FAULT!' _He hated her, then he was sad for her, then he felt touched by her concern, then he just wanted to rip her dress in two and kiss every square-inch of her skin. '_DON'T THINK IT!_' The word 'confused' didn't even come close to what Mitchell was feeling right now.

"Mitchell! C'mon, just spit it out. _What is going on?_" Annie was almost yelling at him, and George (who'd simply ignored their argument up until now) sat looking at her from the other side of the table, in total awe.

"_Okay_! You really want to know? I'm _thirsty_, I want to _feed_. I can sense every human going by the house, and I just want to run outside and bite into whichever major blood vessel I find first!" There was a stunned silence, and then Annie spoke again.

"But you're on the wagon." It should have sounded like a whimper, but to Mitchell it was just an irritating wine.

"Yes, I am on the wagon, and that is precisely why it's so damned difficult!"

It was a lie, of course it was, but it was easier than telling the truth. And why was it easier than telling the truth? '_Because,_' he thought '_I don't even know what the truth is.' _'And?' '_Because I'm thinking like when I was 15 years old when I'd climb the tree in the garden to peek at the girl-next-door's underwear on the washing line.' _ However much of a crappy lie it was, it had silenced Annie's pestering and was valid enough that they probably wouldn't ask again.

"Has anyone else noticed that Emiline doesn't look old enough to be 18?" George asked. It was an obvious attempt at changing the subject, but Annie caught on and said:

"Yeah, I have actually; she looks about 13 to me," replied Annie "I mean, when I think about how I looked when I was 18, or even 15 or 16…"

"It's probably just the clothes." Said George

"Maybe…." They both nodded furiously, clearly trying to get Mitchell to join in. He was all too aware of the fact, but not in the mood to play games, preferring instead the company of his coffee cup.

"What do you think Mitchell?" asked Annie

"Dunno, s'pose you could be right George." The other two both slumped simultaneously, seeing they'd failed in engaging with Mitchell. On, and on and on and _on _they went, just talking about nothing. It was doing Mitchell's head in.

"Where is Emiline by the way?"

"I don't know. I think I saw her go into the garden, but I'm not sure. I was going to take her out for the day. Y'know; see the sights of Bristol, show her the most interesting places to go, take her shopping down at Cabot Circus… you get the drift."

"Shopping? Shopping! Why the hell would two ghosts need to go clothes shopping? It's not as if you're going to be able to buy anything." George laughed hysterically.

"For the same reason living people go shopping; don't tell me you haven't seen all the tarted-up teenagers down there. I mean, it's not as if they've got enough money to buy anything, but I don't see you laughing at them."

"If you don't buy anything useful, then it's not shopping, it's just mooching." George giggled, but Annie didn't get what was so funny about his 'joke'.

"Will you both _shut the fuck up_?!" Mitchell yelled. They both looked at him, shocked. "Look at you both, prattling away, wasting your lives. Oh sorry Annie, you've already wasted your life. Yes that's right, it's already messed up for you I'm afraid. George, why aren't you at Nina's house screwing her like a good boy? It won't last forever you know, nothing ever does!" '_She's dead, she's dead'. _Time waits for no man, but couldn't it have waited for one girl? Couldn't she have been saved? '_No, because there's no god to save anyone. If I'm sure of one thing, that's it. Oh, fuck it all.'_

He got up and left. He left the awful silence, the awful smell of coffee and tea mixed together, the awful girl who was (albeit unconsciously) screwing with his mind. And then he did something he didn't think he was capable of; he cried. He didn't know why, but as soon as his vampire senses told him that he was completely alone on this cold, wet, Saturday morning, he just curled up on the pavement and sobbed. Normally he would have been mortally embarrassed at this uncontrolled show of emotion, but it had gone past that now. There was no Mitchell to feel ashamed, just a huge pool of overwhelming _grief._

He made a decision, right there and then, as the wails of pain were subsiding. '_I'm not going to do this anymore. The old Mitchell would never do this, he'd rather be staked in the heart than lie in the gutter, crying like a drunk. I don't care who she is, she can't have this effect on me, because it's starting to hurt Annie and George too now. If I can control myself enough to stop drinking the blood, then I can stop thinking like this. I don't want to make her leave because of my own stupid green-boy shit.'_ He suddenly sensed someone coming along the road, or more specifically, someone with lycanthrope. Mitchell tried to scramble up without being noticed, but of course George was too close for that.

"Mitchell!" George ran towards the stooped vampire. "I've been looking for you, Annie's really upset. Mitchell, what the hell was that all about? I mean you just screamed and swore and…"

"I'm aware of what I did George."

"Anyway, what were you doing down there?"

"I fell, George, that's all."

"Vampire's don't just fall, Mitchell, their senses are too good for that."

"George, I'm going crazy for blood. Okay? I was lying there, just trying not to rip out the throat of the next person who came past." That lie again, but he couldn't just tell him what had really been going on.

"Oh, Mitchell, I thought you'd done the whole cold-turkey thing."

"Me too, but… it's killing me George, this thirst, this ache. I can barely think."

"Yeah, well, we've talked about that. _All_ of us have talked about that; we think there might just be a kind of solution."


	8. Chapter 8 A funny kind of solution

_Chapter 8 – A funny kind of solution_

This was going to be difficult. No – this was going to be embarrassing, uncomfortable _and _difficult. Mitchell swallowed '_Out of everything I JUST told myself I would not do or think again, taking this girl up to my bedroom alone would probably have ranked pretty much at the top of the list._'

Initially, he'd being lying to them about the thirst, but now it was for real; all that desperate emotion and lust had drained him, and now the need to feed was as solid as it had been when he'd been 'Mitchell: The blackest-hearted vampire of all'.

Originally, the bathroom had been suggested for the task, but Emiline had just said

"The blood normally just disappears when the cuts heal up."

"Yeah, good point, the blood just goes away. So how's it going to stay in my system?" It had been clear that Mitchell did not want to do this.

"Notice I said 'normally'. I haven't told you what I did the first time it happened, have I? The first thing I remember after my death is standing over my own dead body it its coffin, the night before my funeral. It was in the church, all by itself. I suppose my parents just said I'd had an accident or an illness so that my father could be spared the social embarrassment. My wrists started bleeding in earnest, blood spraying everywhere. I ran round the church, screaming until it eventually stopped. That was when I learned that I could pass from one point to another without actually moving, because suddenly I was in a park I used to go to when I was a child, just down the road from the church. When the vicar unlocked the door the next morning to make sure that everything was ready for the funeral, the blood was still everywhere; all over the pews and the floor, and even the bible on the lectern." Mitchell had waited to hear the rest, but seemingly there had been none. Clearly, the others had already heard this story as they didn't seem as shocked as they should have done. "What I'm trying to say is that if I'm separated from the blood for long enough, I think it sort of becomes real."

"So, what happened to the funeral and everything?" George had asked.

"This is not the time." Said Annie

"To cut a long story short, they said the church had been vandalised during the night and re-scheduled it for the next week. If you're still interested, I'll tell you in more detail another time." Emiline had rolled her eyes at George, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"So," Annie had said "really, you could do this anywhere. You could do it down here in the kitchen, for example. Y'know, where we could make sure nothing goes wrong."

"No, oh no. That's something I can't share with you two. Wait that's something I can't share with you _three_. I can't and I won't do this."

"Do you want to end up ripping some person's throat out?" Annie had asked

"There must be some other way. I'll find another vampire who'll let me feed, or something."

"I just don't see that happening Mitchell." He'd lost, and he knew it. It was getting him so badly now, he could even hear George's heartbeat, despite the fact that werewolf blood was disgusting. Mitchell had almost said something, then paused, then continued:

"It has to be somewhere private."

"Bathroom it is then." Annie had replied. George had suddenly smacked a hand to his forehead.

"No, no, no. I forgot, Nina's coming round tonight and I can't just fob her off now."

"Nina? Christ on the cross George, of all the nights to… well, can't she just go outside in the garden?"

"How am I going to explain that one to her? I can't just say 'Oh sorry love, the bathroom's engaged because Mitchell's sucking somebody's blood up there'. She doesn't even know Emiline! I mean, I've kind of mentioned her at work, but, no. Just no, it's not happening!"

So now, here he was, in his bedroom.

"Uh, sit down." He gestured to the bed and Emiline perched on the edge, straight-backed.

"Mitchell, how do we do this?"

"I have no idea." He replied, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the suddenly captivating dirty sock that was lying on the floor. "Do I just bite you?" she didn't flinch, which was pretty admirable, all things considered.

"You may try, but I don't think it would work. Every time Annie or I have cut ourselves whist chopping food for tea, nothing happens; it just heals straight away." The need for blood was beginning to burn, and Mitchell was getting impatient.

"I'll just try and make the cuts bleed again, I suppose." He grunted once in a way that she supposed meant agreement.

She sat, staring at the air about 30cm from her, an intent expression on her face.

"Well?"

"I can't do it Mitchell," he swore under his breath without meaning to "it's just one of those things that I can't do when I try. There must be, well, I don't know, a thing you can't do when you're thinking about it too hard." He stared at her '_Yeah, damned right there's 'a thing' I can't do when I'm thinking about it, but I would have thought it passed you to bring it up.' _She clarified: "Like, I don't know, laughing, or yawning. Yes?"

"Yeah." '_Yes,_ _to name a few._'

"Perhaps you should start shouting at me like you did the other day."

"Oh, god, don't remind me. I regret doing that… I had a friend who committed suicide once. It was when I was in the trenches, those cursed trenches. He got a letter from his sweetheart telling him that she'd decided to marry another man and, of course, he was distraught. We were all low enough as it was. I … I thought it funny and made fun of him in front of all the rest of our battalion. It didn't take him long to put a bullet through his head. I couldn't show my face after that. I felt so guilty, I was… I never really forgave myself. "

"Oh, Mitchell." She sat sucking in her bottom lip.

"Don't, please don't try and be nice, I…"

"No, it's just, _look_." He did; she was standing now, and there glistening, on her upturned wrists, was the smallest amount of blood.

Mitchell didn't need any more of an invitation. He snatched up her hands so fast she barley even saw him move. He hadn't realised that the need could be this strong, and the blood that was now pouring into his mouth was so, so… his thoughts were drowned. The only thing that was missing, the only thing that stopped this from being whole was _'Bite!'_ said Mitchell's core. He obeyed. She could have cried out, or even screamed at him to stop, but Mitchell wouldn't have heard it; he was in this far too deep. And the taste, the _taste_! It was like nothing else he'd ever had. '_No, that's not quite true, there was one time, I'm sure…'_ but he couldn't remember and didn't care. Maybe it was just what ghost blood tasted of, or maybe hers had been like this in life, but whatever it was, it didn't matter.

He drained her past the point at which she would have died, had she been alive to start with. She staggered out, only containing enough energy to teleport down the stairs, then, on reaching the front door, out onto the step. She couldn't drag herself further, even though she knew that if her ghostly blood was able to remain near to her, it would heal away and none would be left inside Mitchell's body, making the whole exercise a waste of time. She tried to stand up, but couldn't, and instead passed into a state of what was as close to unconsciousness as she had got since she'd died.

Mitchell, on the other hand, was having a completely different experience. The plan had worked, and the blood was better than any he could remember drinking. Everything around him buzzed with a strange intensity, and his normally-strong vampire senses were heightened further. '_This is why we do it. This is why we drink blood. God, how could I have ever given it up?'_ He was bursting with energy and could barely keep himself still. However, he couldn't just start running around the house, bouncing off the walls like a hyperactive kid. He jumped onto the bed, tearing at the bedclothes, not stopping until he was covered in a pile of goose feathers and duvet stuffing. He felt a tiny stab of guilt, but then thought _'what the hell, it's my room; I can do what I like with, to, and in it.'_ Then he sank down, to enjoy the pure rapture and bliss of being full of blood once again. So oblivion came for two people that night.


	9. Chapter 9 The Safety of Routine

_Chapter 9 – The Safety of Routine_

They passed a week without a single strange thing happening: Annie cried over her inability to drink tea, Mitchell lusted after a dead girl, George had his time of the month. All in all, a pretty damned boring week really.

Mitchell and Emiline's new 'arrangement' was not mentioned by any members of the household, with they themselves not being an exception. The morning after Mitchell's first feed, Annie had simply prattled away whilst being aided by her fellow ghost in the process of tea-making.

"I was thinking about taking you out into Bristol, you know Em… see the sights, go shopping at Cabot Circus…" Emiline had simply nodded or shaken her head at the necessary places, but Annie had not noticed her lack of enthusiasm. Neither Mitchell nor Emiline had been able to make eye contact that morning.

'_Thank god that's all over,_' thought Mitchell, remembering the minutely-detailed description Annie had given about the confectionary on sale in the new chocolate shop, '_it was hell!_' A little disappointed about the fact that Emiline had shown no interest whatsoever about the huge eye-shadow stand in the department store, Annie had resumed with leaving Emiline alone at home.

However, midway through the week, just after his cycle, George came down with a mild form of 'flu and was consequently off work. Mitchell was given was also given leave to stay home, due to the nature of his job and the fear the hospital had of spreading infection (although, of course, it was impossible for Mitchell contract the virus). Emiline busied herself looking after both George and the house, saying

"Just because I'm dead, it doesn't mean that I don't care about the way the house in which I live looks. Oh, and I do know some good old cough and cold remedies George; you'll be back on your feet in no time!" He certainly was, maybe because of Emiline's magical cure of honey, lemon and ginger drink, maybe because he was so suffocated by her warmth that he just forced himself to get well. Fearing that he might still be contagious, however, the hospital advised that he stay home at least another week.

The problem was that Mitchell needed to drink again, desperately needed to drink again, but he couldn't, just couldn't ask her. It had been different the first time; it had been the others' idea to start with, and he hadn't had a chance to think about it. Now, though, with her acting the mother-hen and house-keeper, he just felt embarrassed. What made it worse somehow was George's presence: every time Mitchell had plucked up the courage to ask for the favour again, George came in at precisely the wrong moment.

"Right," George said on the Sunday afternoon "I've had enough of this mooching around watching bad daytime T.V; I'm going back to work tomorrow whether they want me or not." They did want him back, but kept Mitchell away, fearing for the older patients among them.

So, the following Monday was the first time Emiline and Mitchell were alone in the house again. She continued with her boring routine, bustling in and out of rooms with cloths, feather-dusters and god knew what else; Mitchell continued with his internal struggle.

He was cleaning his teeth when she barged into the bathroom, mop and bucket in hand. She jumped out again, turning her head away and staring at the ceiling.

"Oh, Mitchell, I'm so sorry; I had no idea you were in here." She made to go away, but he called her back.

"It's alright Em, you can come in, I'm only doing my teeth after all." She sidled in, embarrassed, looking like she'd rather impale herself of a spike than be in the bathroom right then.

"Really Mitchell, I was going to clean the sink and floor, but it's a bit difficult with you in here. I'll come back in a minute."

"Oh, stay will you." He was frustrated with her current attitude towards him – she was being so distant with him. Not cold exactly, just distant. "Sit down." She perched on the loo, looking slightly more relaxed, despite the situation.

"It's so funny to think that a vampire should have to brush their teeth." Mitchell rolled his eyes.

"Vampires get tooth decay as well you know." He said, laughing.

"Hmm, and I suppose it would rather spoil the mood if you went up to someone, fangs out, ready for the kill, then had them laugh in your face when they saw a bit of spinach stuck between your teeth." The both fell into fits of giggles.

When they'd both stopped clutching at their sides, Emiline looked at Mitchell seriously.

"Don't hesitate to ask."

"What?"

"If you want to, again, well… look Mitchell, I don't know how often you need to feed, so if you do have to, just ask me again." He nodded, serious again too.

"Now?" he asked

"Perfect.... If you really want to know, I was just trying to act normal around you so that you wouldn't feel embarrassed to ask again but, well, it's boring me to tears all this housework." He snorted.

"And me."

Though neither of them knew why, they both ended up in his bedroom again. '_God, all this needs to be a proper affair is for me to swing her into my arms, toss her onto the bed, pin her down and then drink from her._' He felt guilty, using her like that; it seemed more like a form of prostitution.

"I still don't know how to start, Mitchell." He sighed

"I think I do, and I don't like it much. I'll tell you about the trenches like last time, but promise me you'll never repeat anything I say; the others only know the barest of details."

"Of course Mitchell, if that's how you'd prefer it." So he talked. He talked to her about his friends who'd gone off to war with him, talked to her about seeing the men in his pals battalion die one by one, talked about the rats and the mud and the death. It worked.

Realising that he could stop talking and start feeding, Mitchell threw himself towards her, knocking them both onto his newly-furbished bed. He drank, unable to stop himself from biting just like the time before. _'So, she didn't cry out then_.' He was more aware of her this time, more aware of everything. He thought that his need would not be so great as the last time, but if anything it was greater. He drank her to near unconsciousness, drank until he realised that he had no choice but to stop. Still wanting more, Mitchell flopped over, lying by her side, breathing hard. He looked at her; Emiline's eyes were half closed, her eyeballs flickering behind the lids. She was breathing ('_what, a ghost?'_), but barely, chocking on every few breaths.

"You okay?" She tried to nod, but barely moved. "Oh god, oh no. I didn't hurt you did I? I didn't… Emiline? Emiline!" He put his arms around her and shook her. Her head lolled backwards.

"I'm alright." To a human, the sound would have been inaudible, but Mitchell heard it. "I've got to… downstairs, alone." She was desperately trying to stop the blood from leaving his system, trying to make sure that it was worth all the pain and effort, but she couldn't make him understand.

"No, I'm not leaving you by yourself. You may be dead, but you are most certainly _not _alright. You're staying up here, with me; I have to make sure you're okay." She tried to say something else, tried to tell him, but couldn't find her voice.

He lay down next to her again, pulling her close, almost holding her too hard. He listened to her breathing until it settled and watched until her eyes stopped flickering and closed properly, as if in sleep. She turned towards him, burying her face in his shoulder still partially unconscious, and his stomach did a somersault. _'They were right, my vampires; I can't stop hurting people. I can't stop hurting the ones I love.'_


	10. Chapter 10 Small Steps Forward

_Chapter 10 – Small Steps Forward_

"This has got to change." Mitchell said, releasing his grip a little

"Yes."

"We've got to arrange this better."

"I quite agree."

"But, right now we have a menial but pressing issue at hand; we have to get you out of my bed and somewhere respectable before the others get back, 'cause if either of them find us up here, they're going to freak."

"Small steps, Mitchell."

When Emiline had 'awoken' she'd been somewhat frantic about her whereabouts.

"What?" she'd said "where is this? Wait, Mitchell, why am I still in your bedroom? No, oh no. Why… _why are you holding me_?" She'd writhed then, panicked and confused. Mitchell had only made the situation worse by clasping her even harder in an attempt to stop her moving. Eventually, she'd relaxed a little repeated;

"Why are you holding me?"

Now, he was carrying her downstairs. She'd made as if to get up like she would have done normally, but had fallen flat on her face. Embarrassed and protesting loudly, Mitchell had scooped her up with ease, legging it as fast as he could to the living room and the sofa. There, the tension eased.

"Emiline, I want to apologise."

"What for?"

"Feeding off you past the point at which you would have normally died and causing you to pass out."

"That's hardly your fault. If you're going to apologise for anything, do it for lying there holding me whilst all the blood drained out of your system; we'll only have to do this again, won't me Mitchell?"

"Funny you should say that, 'cause I was just thinking; I don't feel like feeding at all. I guess that once I've drunk it, that's just it, like any other blood."

"Oh."

"Not that your blood doesn't taste alright or anything… it's different from anything I've ever had, something special, but…"

"I don't care what my blood tastes like as long as it's okay… but I'll try and take that as a compliment." She suddenly started giggling insanely, drawing a stare from Mitchell.

"Oh, sorry Mitchell, it's just that if you were to go back and tell my living self that one day I'd be sitting with a vampire discussing the taste of my blood, I'd probably just have laughed in your face and walked off. But now… things have all changed."

"Yeah, that's the thing about being dead." Mitchell said the words in a cut-throat serious tone, but it was clear that he saw where the amusement came from.

"Emiline, the whole point in me drinking your blood is that I drink less and less every time, so that I can try and shake the addiction. I seem to have drunk more this time that the first, so we're missing the whole point of the exercise. You've got to stop me, okay? Tell me when you've had enough."

"Oh Mitchell, I couldn't, I…" he upon her in a second.

"You will tell me. Oh, yes you will damn well tell me." He was pinning her down to the sofa, his face close to hers, almost touching.

"Hi, I'm back." George clomped noisily through the door, followed by a bored-looking Annie. Mitchell leaped back before either of them had a chance to see him like that with Emiline.

"I tell you, that girl down at the counter in the supermarket. What a prat. 'No I do not want that tin of Barbie-shaped spaghetti hoops or the glitter pens, neither of which are mine. No I didn't put those in my basket' for the _third bloody time._" George was rambling.

"Did you get what you wanted in the end though?" asked Emiline, discreetly trying to stand up, but wobbling over again.

"Yeah, I'm making dinner. I've had this great idea for…" he blabbered on and Annie rolled her eyes at Mitchell and Emiline.

"Shall we put the box on then?" asked Annie.

"Sure, that's just what I was about to do."

About half an hour into '100 most famous 80's songs' however, George let out a howl.

"It's not his time is it?" asked Annie, looking worriedly at the kitchen door "I thought he'd just had that." To answer, George came out, carrying the dish of… _whatever_ it was supposed to be, crying tears the size of watermelons over it.

"It's burned! It's not supposed to burn! It can't have."

"Oh god." Said Annie "It's alright, George, I'm sure we can salvage some of it."

"No, it's_ ruined._" He wailed. The whole scene was somewhat comical; a fully-grown man-who-was-actually-a-werewolf sobbing over a plate of food like his whole life was falling apart before his eyes.

"Alright, alright, girls to the rescue." Annie got up, and gestured to Emiline who stumbled up, but then (to Mitchells relief) regained her balance.

An hour or so later, dinner was served, the main meal being simply pasta (as that was the only thing that Annie could find in the house).  
"You know, I think I over-reacted to the whole meal-failure thing."

"You could be right."

"So, my new new-year's resolution is not to get wound up when I burn the food for only the first time."

"It seems a bit late to be making resolutions, George," said Annie "and a bit silly if you ask me."

"Well, you know bit-by-bit and all that."

"Small steps forward, George." Mitchell said, making Emiline laugh hysterically.


	11. Chapter 11 Diffusion, distraction

_Chapter 11 – Diffusion, distraction_

"Why do I have to keep meeting strange people whilst I'm out?" mumbled George, shaking his umbrella to get the rain off. "First it's Emiline, now it's some crazy old guy threatening me with a walking cane, going 'I know what you are!'."

"George, for the third time, your boots are spreading muddy footprints all over the place!" yelled Annie "And I shouldn't worry about him; there're probably just people out there who still think that you're a paedophile."

"Thank you for putting me in the league of old men with scary walking canes." Added Emiline from the lounge.

"Oh, just… shut up, both of you." George removed said criminal boots, and flopped down on the sofa, next to where Emiline was sitting.

"Hey that's not half bad," George said, leaning over her shoulder in an attempt to distract the others from the obvious trail of destruction he had made on his way from the door to the living room. He pointed at the ink-pen drawing Emiline had been doing, and then looked up at the unsuspecting subject.

"If it weren't for the fact that that's my fountain pen, I'd say you'd got his expression just right." Mitchell snapped out of his intent day-dreaming;

"What-what?" he said, looking worriedly from George to Emiline "What's going wrong?" they laughed.

"Oh, but Mitchell, you've lost that intense look now," Emiline groaned "it was so interesting to draw." Annie was there as well then.

"God, that's amazing." she said. Mitchell stomped over half-heartedly, not entirely sure what was going on. Peering into the girl's lap, he saw the object of attention. Not knowing how to respond, he just said

"Do I really look like that? I mean, has my hair got that long?"

"What do you mean?" asked Emiline. There was a pause

"I can't see myself in the mirror… or have a picture or film taken. This is the first image I've seen of myself since I died. Unless you count the stick-men-type drawings George made." George's 'they were not stick men!' faded into the distance. Emiline's eyes asked 'really?' Mitchell nodded back. Or at least that was what he assumed they meant. She could have been trying to tell him anything with that sad look, anything at all: 'the curse of death is not an easy one' to 'I wish Mitchell would stop leaving his fingerless gloves all over the place'. It was so difficult to tell.

"Could you do one of me?" Annie asked. Without knowing it, she'd completely diffused the situation. Emiline nodded without taking her eyes from Mitchell's.

"Of course." Emiline replied, but they didn't stop looking at each other.

'_What else have you got hidden up those sleeves, Em? There's more than slit wrists and a source of blood, that's for sure._'

"Is that what you were going to study, then?" asked George.

"What?"

"You said that you had a place at uni, but your father wouldn't let you go. Were you going to study art?"

"Oh, no; modern foreign languages, actually. French and Spanish combined course."

"Looks like we've found you a fellow linguist, then George." Laughed Annie "You're clearly one of many talents, Emiline… I'd like to know what else you've hidden from us." '_Precisely: what else have you hidden?_'


	12. Chapter 12 Siren red

_Chapter 12 – Siren red_

_**She pressed her face against the window, distorting her normally pretty features on the glass. Her eyes seemed enlarged by the over-pronounced dark circles around them. The weather was foul again; a dense fog encased the house and a storm was brewing a little way off – anyone sensitive to the weather could tell from the frequent pressure headaches it was bringing. She'd been standing by that window for over an hour now, but nobody had bothered to try and move her; they were all out. Perhaps it was unwise to leave her like that, but in truth they didn't realise how out of hand the problem was getting. Maybe they didn't even know that there was one.**_

"Em, I'm back." It was Mitchell. She didn't even grimace at the nickname like she normally did. She just stayed there, by the window. She recognised the feeling and knew what it meant.

_**This was just like the last time, but so much worse. She felt like this hole had no bottom; at least with all the other times, there had been a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.**_

"Y'alright?" She hadn't seen him approach. He put his hands on her waste tentatively, and – when she made no move to throw him off – pulled her close. He knew then that something was wrong… really wrong. As in the sort of hugs-won't-help, don't-even-try-to-make-it-better way. '_Oh great,_' thought Mitchell '_I never could talk to girls… Correction: I could talk girls into my bed, but I couldn't do the whole agony-aunt comforting thing. Where the hell is George when you need him?_' He pulled her gently away from the window, but her body remained stiff and almost unmoveable. '_No, it's worse than that, isn't it? Not even George would know what to do with this one._'

Mitchell suddenly felt something splash onto his shoe. '_Blood_' He hadn't fed since the last disaster almost a week ago. His need was not desperate, but upon seeing the vermillion trail, he felt the usual tug. Quite unexpectedly she went limp in his arms. He caught her easily and carried to the sofa, ignoring the occasional splashing sound that the blooding was making on the floor. Finally, she gave some sort of response.

"Drink it, Mitchell." He opened his mouth to argue, but then gave in.

'_Why the fuck do we keep ending up here?_' It was getting annoying that he kept taking her to his bedroom, especially as he never remembered actually doing so. One minute they'd been downstairs, the next, on his bed. He'd been admiring his self-restraint, though, happy that he'd taken only as much blood as was absolutely necessary. He looked at her then; looked at her hair, her staring eyes, her face, her neck. It seemed familiar. In life, that neck would have been so snap-able, he realised. He'd resorted to that method once or twice; if a victim got too noisy, the safest thing to do was to just kill 'em and do a runner. He sighed, and rubbed his hand over his neck.

"You bring out the worst in me, you know." Mitchell said. She didn't reply, but looked at him blankly. Sighing again, he lay down next to her and pulled the girl towards him like before.

"The others." She mumbled vaguely.

"Sod the others." He brushed away the tendril of hair hanging over her eyes. "Emiline..." he began. '_There's no easy way to start Mitchell, just get it over with._' "Would you…? Do you feel...? Are you depressed?" He could have sworn he heard her chuckle, but that didn't make sense.

"I suppose so. In fact, I know so. I've got that I'm-wasting-my-life feeling again. Is that strange? I am dead after all."

"No. No, that's not strange. Hell, I get that feeling all the time." It wasn't exactly a lie; it had been that way before. He'd been purposeless before George and Annie and the house, but all that had changed it. "Don't worry; in the end, you find that we're all broken."

"You'll also find that some can be fixed." '_Damn!_' She'd got him there. With that she'd of course implied that there were some people who couldn't be, and that she was one of those.

"If you were alive, I'd suggest meds." It wasn't exactly the most sensitive thing to say, but this was Mitchell. And Mitchell's way with women at the moment just extended to getting them into bed. "It looks like I'm just going to have to keep an eye on you."

"And do what, Mitchell? I'm just sorry I'm doing this; it seems horribly self-indulgent, but truly, I'm not doing this on purpose. I'd rather be making myself useful for you lot."

~X~

"So what's she like?" asked Nina.

"Just give me a second." George was still recovering from the latest only-just-finished 'good time' with Nina. '_Her bed is surprisingly more comfortable than my one at home'_ thought George.

"Sweet n'helpful. You know; nice type. I think she's probably cleverer than she makes out too."

"So you don't think she's pretty?" Nina pouted. George thought. '_I hate these questions; you can never get the answer right._'

"I suppose she is, in an old-fashioned kind of way. I mean, in her time, she was probably pretty sexy, if that existed in the 1950's." She chuckled, and he heaved a sigh of silent relief, thanking the stars that he'd not screwed up too much this time.

"And her name's Emiline?" she asked.

"Yeah. I mean, we tend to call her Em, but she doesn't like it much and won't answer."

"So, she committed suicide, and bleeds all over the place when she thinks about it too much? And Mitchell feeds off her?" He nodded. She put on her dressing gown, leaned out of the window and lit a cigarette.

"Should you really be doing that?" George probed. She grunted, stubbed it on the ledge and flicked it outside.

"Happy?" She took of the dressing gown again, and stomped off to shower. '_Damn. When I finally say the right thing in one place, I get it wrong in another._' He sighed and rolled off the bed, knowing that there'd be absolutely no hot water left for him.

~X~

"What's she like then?" the girl behind the counter asked. Annie was at her favourite café, sitting on a stool by the coffee bar. She'd been frequenting the place for a while now. The girl behind the bar was friendly and talkative, if not exactly bright, and never seemed to notice that Annie never drunk her coffee. She usually forgot to charge as well, so it wasn't as if Annie was wasting the household's money. She'd been talking about her new 'friend' who was staying at her place.

"She's kind, I guess, if a little odd." Annie said, in answer to the girl's question.

"Odd?"

"Yeah, she's… I don't know, oh, just… never mind. She's sweet." Annie couldn't put her finger on it and, even if she had been able to, it wasn't as if she could really explain the whole story to Miss Nice-but-dim.

"Do you like her?"

"We get on alright."

~X~

"What about therapy?"

"I can't be seen or heard, Mitchell. I believe that makes the point more or less moot."

"Oh yeah, right, sure." At least he was getting her talk at all, but he was frustrated with his inability to suggest any rational solution. They stayed in silence for a while whilst Mitchell's brain cogs worked double-time.

"I've never understood how you can hold me, Mitchell."

"Well, when a ghost gets confident enough in themselves, they turn solid. Then, gradually more and more people can see and hear them. Life's almost normal for Annie." Replied Mitchell, confused by the random and seemingly irrelevant question.

"That's not what I meant… my family never touched me. Neither did my friends. It was like a taboo, I suppose, but I never thought about it much then. But here, with you… it's so different with all of you. I was even surprised when Annie put her hand on my shoulder the other day, so how is it that you can hold me?"

"You mean how can I bear to?" She nodded a response, her eyes big and her expression solemn. He was stumped. He held her because he liked her, and because she was hurt. He held her because he was it was the only thing he could think of to do, even though it seemed to be a pretty pointless gesture under the circumstances. "Why, do you want me to stop?" He began to draw away, suddenly defensive.

"I never said… I don't know, Mitchell. No. Wait, do what you think is best." God this girl was hopeless. If she'd only think about herself like the rest of the world, then she'd probably never have got like this to begin with.

He stayed, because he wanted to. The problem was that now she'd made him conscious of how he was holding her, it no longer felt normal or natural. It became awkward for him, trying not to be too suggestive whilst at the same time being… just being there. On the one hand, she was so much of a child that it was impossible to believe that she could interpret this as being anything more than innocent comforting; on other hand, you couldn't tell what was in her head, and it was clear that she wasn't as naïve as she looked. Her humiliating scars said that much.

Mitchell heard Annie walking upstairs, having teleported through the front door. He leaped up hissing to Emiline

"Stay, please. You don't need to get up."

He dashed outside his bedroom and stood in front of the door. Emiline knew that she couldn't stay there any longer unless she wanted to risk permanent paralysis. Using all her energy, she dragged herself up.

"Hi Annie!" Mitchell was over-sunny, trying to look as innocent as possible. He wasn't fooling anyone.

"What have you got in there that you don't want me to see?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Mitchell pressed himself to the door frame, looking sheepish.

"You know I can go in there without bothering with the door, and I intend to do so unless you can give me a good reason why not."

"It's… a birthday present." Mitchell was pleased with his excuse and even happier when Annie seemed to take the bait.

"Really? Wow, oh tell me what it is! Tell me tell me!" she jumped up and down clapping. He visibly deflated when she said "Come off it Mitchell, I'm dead, I don't have birthdays. And you don't know when I was born."

"It's a present for when you were born as a ghost."

"I don't think that's really appropriate, Mi… where's Emiline?" He grinned at her, pleading that she wouldn't pursue it. "You've got her in there, haven't you? You bastard!" A wave of jealousy hit Annie, though she wasn't entirely sure why. "I bet you forced her to. They never could resist you, could they? God, she's even younger than I am… and probably doesn't even know what sex is! You know Mitchell I thought you'd got past raping young girls."

"She's not, I haven't… it's not like that. She was ill. She was hurt. And she was bleeding, and she asked me to, to…"

"Yeah, right." Annie was furious with him and continuing to lye to her was just making things worse

"She might be naïve Annie, but she still killed herself because of depression. Who's to say she can't get depressed in death. I do all the same things now as when I was alive, and so do you, minus eating. What makes you think she doesn't?"

"You mean it? Really?" he nodded. "Well can I at least see her?"

"I guess so; don't see why not." Mitchell knew he'd lost.

"Right, you go and make the tea or something, I'll see if I can talk to her." He made his way downstairs, trying not to run.

~X~

_**The cold bit into her, but that didn't matter; it made some sort of sick sense. At least this way, she could tell where she began and where she ended. **_

'_What a strange looking man,_' she thought '_he looks like that person George was complaining about the other day._'

_**Life was pointless; it had never exactly been meaningful, but this was different. That one little thrill she got each day had just turned round and bittern her. But she wouldn't stop, she couldn't stop. Even if it killed her, she would never stop.**_

~X~

Two things hit Annie the moment she walked into Mitchell's room: the first was the overwhelming sense of distress and frustration and fear; the other was the very obvious absence of ghost.

"Uh, Mitchell would you like to tell me what the bloody hell is going on here?" she yelled downstairs.

"What?" Mitchell yelled back.

"Come here." He obeyed.

"What the fuck?!" he said, entering the room.

"Where is she then?" Mitchell didn't answer, instead going straight to his bed and the siren of bright red tucked in by his pillow. It was some scarlet paper. An old envelope to be more precise. On it, below the scribbled-out address, were the words 'I'm sorry Mitchell.'


	13. Chapter 13 Returning

_Chapter 13 - Returning_

The way she avoided them for the next week was almost unbearable. They all waited up for her on the night of her disappearance, but to no avail; she didn't return. They tried to continue as normal after that, with the only difference being that Annie now spent almost all her time in the house, in the hopes of catching the ghost. It was clear that Emiline was returning to the house every day, but fled on hearing anyone enter. There was, however, clear evidence of her presence; periodically the house became tidier than when it was first built. Annie blamed Mitchell, Mitchell blamed himself, and George didn't know what to think. They all left Nina out of it.

George, of all people, was the one to find her. He was on the sofa, reading the newspaper when she came in. She cast a furtive glance around and went into the living room, clearly not seeing him. He saw her and jumped, causing her to do likewise. To his surprise, she didn't try to leave, just stood there like a rabbit caught in headlights. George opened his mouth to speak, closed it and opened it again. She spoke first.

"You look like a fish." George made as if to chuckle, but then realised that she had simply stated the fact; there was no smile in her voice.

"Hello." It was the best that he could do. She nodded at him and came over to him. George had no idea what to expect.

"I'm sorry." She said

"What for?" he asked. She shrugged.

"I've been very selfish." He huffed and shook his head, folding his paper and putting it to one side. He thought of all the things he could say to her, and they all came down to the same thing:

"You're back." Mitchell said. He'd entered almost as silently as a ghost, and had surprised them both. They both turned to look at him.

Emiline fell. If he hadn't known better, Mitchell would have said she'd fainted; her eyes lost focus, and she crumpled, landing on the floor with a bang. Somehow, Mitchell was at her side first, despite George's close proximity to her. He scooped her up, guilt tugging at him. George gulped as he saw the blood well in, and drip from her wrists, but Mitchell didn't hear him. He took her up to that friendly forbidden place which had become so familiar to both of them. Mitchell laid her down and brushed out of her face those tendrils of hair that had escaped her tight, pinned back curls. He left her, but for the shortest period of time, only to reappear with a dining chair from the kitchen. Mitchell set the chair by the bed and sat down, wresting his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees.

Mitchell wouldn't leave. He sat and watched her, barely blinking. Annie returned late, and had a whispered conversation of explanation with George before bringing in a cup of black coffee and setting it down beside Mitchell. He didn't drink it. He just watched the girl for the 9 and a half hours it took for her to recover, his eyes flickering black.


	14. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

She began to regain 'consciousness' very early morning the next day (although it would be some hours yet before she was truly awake). She awoke mumbling. Mitchell – who had just begun to flag – started up as soon as he heard the noise. He listened intently to the unintelligible ramblings.

"I, you know," (mutter, mutter) "thought," (cough) "you were there." Mitchell restrained the urge to shake her and demand what the hell she was on about. They were just ramblings after all, and should be heeded no more than the shell-shocked, feverish men in the trenches. But he couldn't stop himself listening.

"I had the strangest dream." Upon hearing this slightly more lucid utterance, he could not help himself;

"You slept?" It was hard to keep the surprise out of his voice.

"Not that kind of dream… I dreamt, when I was out walking…" she trailed off. He opened his mouth to ask again, but closed it when she began to speak.

"You'll remember, Mitchell. Underneath the bridge in London; that was the beginning of the end, though that sounds cliché." She had opened her eyes and looked up at him blearily, as he inspected her from above.

"What?"

"You don't recall? Of course you do. You will tell me soon that you do not remember number 242! How I should laugh if you did. Foolish child, how cruel it is to toy with me like that. The grey flannel was the worst… " She descended into utter gibberish again and Mitchell sat down once more. It was definitely better to ignore her whilst she was in this state. Somewhere, though, some small part of the nonsense struck a cord. The talk about bridges in London brought back vague pictures of something, but it wasn't as if it were somewhere one went only once in their life (if of course, one lived in Britain), and without specifics, it was just more rubbish. '_What about number 242?_' something in himself told him that it would be safer to say that he'd no associations with the silly thing, but something else told him that there was an association, and that it was important.

She muttered loudly, but all that Mitchell could make out were the words "Stop!" and "Oh please… no more." If ghosts could catch 'flu, he'd say that she had it. But of course they couldn't catch anything anymore than a vampire could. A familiar sense of frustration washed over him, but he quashed it quickly.

All that mattered now was that she got better. Mitchell knew that it was his fault. He didn't know how, but it had been all his fault none the less. And now he had to put it right.


	15. Chapter 15 Tiny Children

_Chapter 15_

"Could you sort these then?" After making it onto her feet, Emiline had expressed a desire to help around the house and be busy. Annie had sighed and ushered her to a pile of old CDs (mainly ripped-off copies from somewhere or another).

"How will I know if you want to keep them?" Emiline's tone was dead-pan.

"Well, just play them and see if they work. If they're too scratched to play, put them in the bin. Then put all of the same bands and genres together. Okay?" she'd nodded, and Annie had left, going out at the same time as the boys. She'd insisted that they needn't nurse-maid her, and that they should go on as normal. In truth, Annie had become a little frustrated with her. It wasn't her fault, but her 'illness' tended to attract quite a lot of attention, and while Annie wasn't exactly jealous, the nature of the most recent fainting fit had seemed contrived and attention-seeking.

Mitchell had been the most unwilling to leave her alone, but his shifts at the hospital prevented him from staying with her. However, he would once again be back first and he hoped to catch her alone.

Mitchell's wishes were fulfilled when he dashed in the door still wearing his scrubs, even though they weren't supposed to leave the hospital with them on. He was tempted just to stop there, and go to her, but said scrubs weren't exactly the most practical or attractive of clothes.

"I'm going upstairs to change. I'll be back down in a moment, okay?" He turned to go, but Emiline called him back with a non-comitial mumble.

"It's just that… where did you get this? Is it even yours?" Emiline asked, holding up the CD. It was definitely a pirate copy, but its contents were marked on clearly with CD pen. It read 'Collection of the Smiths'.

"Oh, err; it must be left over from when Gilbert was around." Mitchell replied

"I thought as much." She didn't look at him as she said it, and just stared at the CD. "I miss him, in a funny way. I didn't even know that ghosts could end at all until Annie told me what she'd seen. I… betrayed him, didn't I?" He didn't know how to answer, but in the end he didn't have to. "Sorry… I'm sorry. I'm just talking to myself. Forgive me." She looked at him for the first time since he had come in "you don't mind if I carry on playing these, do you? Just to make sure they work, of course."

"No, go ahead." Mitchell replied. She returned her gaze to the CD, pressing the sound system's open button (with surprising glee: Annie had shown her how to work one of those things that morning and the novelty hadn't yet worn off.) She didn't speak again and just pressed the play, turning on a delightfully drone-ey tune ("_call me morbid, call me pale, I've spent six years on your trail…_"). Mitchell was pleased to escape.

Mitchell returned to find Emiline still listening to the large compilation album. He winced as the song 'Still Ill' came up, realising its potential contextual significance to the girl. Her knuckles whitened as she clenched her fists, and Mitchell backed out of the room unnoticed. He returned as the song with those desperately sung lyrics drew itself to a close, after having downed a cup of black coffee. He wondered suddenly why he had wanted to have this chance to be alone with her; now that the moment was here, it seemed awkward.

"What song's next?" he asked, leaning against the wall. It was a pathetic attempt at conversation and he knew it, but then now wasn't really the time for small talk. She glanced at the scribbled-on play list.

"'Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me'" he chuckled in spite of himself, harking back to the vague memories of some of his eighties days.

"That's the wrist-cutter's version of a last dance isn't it?" he chuckled again, but then stopped, realising what he'd just said. The song was slow in coming on, and there was more uncomfortable silence.

"Last dance?" Emiline asked. Her eyes were large and frightened.

"Yeah, the slushy tune they play at the end of a party so that everyone has the excuse to get really close to their evening's partner. It's just swaying backwards and forwards really, not dancing at all."

"Oh." Emiline nodded, but it was clear that she didn't really understand.

"And 'The Smiths' tended to be for the more depressive of audiences." There was that implication again. _'Fuck it_,' he thought '_just get it over with._'

He grabbed her, rather more forcefully than he had intended, and pulled her into classic slow-dance position. She jumped in shock, her intended trajectory being away from him, but his grasp held her. The music began, and Morrissey droned once again.

"See, it's not that exciting to be honest." She was so impeccably small, and again he got the sense of her being no more than a child.


	16. Chapter 16 You and who's army?

_Chapter 16 – You and who's army?_

"Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?" Nina said. Vial continued to ignore her, staring at George with an unpleasant smirk. "I am talking to you!" She launched herself at him with surprising vigour, knocking him into the wall. With him pinned down, she grimaced at him. "Care to talk to me now?" He whimpered slightly and looked scared, before beginning to cough and then chuckle, then roaring with laughter.

He took her up by her shoulders and threw her to one side, knocking her into a near by dustbin bag.

"Oh, I really shouldn't be doing that to you; what with your condition." He said smarmily. Nina swallowed.

"Condition?" asked George, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach. He made as if to go to her, but Vial blocked his way. Nina struggled up.

"That's beside the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"You have to be punished."

"What for?" George's voice trembled.

"For mixing with _them._" Vial growled. George knew instantly what he meant; Vial was referring to his association with Mitchell. Annie would be no threat, but (at least according to what legends and folklore George knew) the life purpose of a werewolf was to kill as many vampires as possible and keep them in check.

"Mitchell." It wasn't a question.

"You see what I mean? You even call him by his name. He's not a person George; he's just a killing machine. His driving force is to take the blood of innocent humans. You cannot refer to a vampire by name, or by 'he' or 'she', just 'it'. Vampires are 'its', boy." Vial spat. He was seething, and looked like he had such a vile taste in his mouth that he might vomit. '_He's not the only_ _one_' thought George.

George was fiercely protective of his small 'family'. Such was his friendship with Mitchell that the thought of him being degraded so made him ill to the point of retching.

George was brought back to the problem at hand with a cry from Nina. He dodged round Vial and went straight to her. Her pupils were dilated and her jaw was locked. She was ever so slightly hunched, but straightened as George reached out to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Noting… nothing." She swallowed hard and then forced a smile. "Really, I think it would be wisest to deal with this bloke first."

"Yeah." George turned back to Vial "Just tell me what you want."

"Ah, all in good time, boy." He turned and began to stroll off, but George followed him.

"That's not good enough."

"You know, I got the impression you'd be quite pleased to get rid of me." He laughed "But really George, did you honestly think that you'd get away that lightly? I was just teasing, boy!"

"So tell me!"

"Patience, patience. You'll know soon enough, but you will be required to come with us."

"Oh no. No, no, no. There's no way I'm coming with you."

"I'm so sorry, George, but you see, you don't have a choice."

"Really?"

"Really. So, will you come, or do I have to force you?"

"You and _who's_ army?"


	17. Chapter 17 Famous Last Words

_Chapter 17 – Famous last words_

'_Famous last words_' George thought as Vial smirked. '_This is the part where he whistles and trio of really hulky werewolves skulk round the corner. Great, that's just what I need._'

"Well George, you can try resisting if you want, but I think it will be beneficial to you to come without fight. And, with regards to an army, well, I may not have one here with me, but there are certainly those upon whom I could call should you get difficult."

"I shan't come with you then."

"Oh I think you will. I'm stronger than you might expect, and your girlfriend there is a lot weaker than normal. An easy target you might say."

"Oh no, threaten me all you like, but leave her out of this."

"As I said George, I think you might find it beneficial to come easily." Vial drooled. George swallowed; he knew he was beaten. He nodded.

"You stay here, Nina, I'll sort this."

"That's not how it works, George. She's coming to you know."

"You said you'd let her be."

"I said no such thing. I simply implied that she'd be safer if you obeyed." Vial raised an eyebrow at George.

"George, I can look after myself. I'll come too if that's necessary."

"What about your shift? They won't miss me too much, but they'll notice if you're gone. We've been out here long enough and we've got a bus load in there."

"It doesn't look like we have a choice."

"Good, little girl. That's probably the most sensible thing you've done yet. Care to follow?" He began strolling off.

The two followed reluctantly. They walked for ages, walked until the pair was completely lost and disorientated. Vial was always almost a street ahead and he never looked behind. Then, finally, as evening started creeping across the sky, they reached the place.


	18. Chapter 18 Ultimatum

_Chapter 18 – Ultimatum_

The room was, of course, dark. '_I guess it was expecting too much when I thought they might break a stereotype._' The buildings was one of those with the ground floor on street level at the front and below at the back. Thus the darkness. The only windows were those tiny frosted ones, located at the top of the walls, almost touching the ceiling. To make the darkness worse, evening was near and very little light was coming into the room. The place looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years, with specific reference to the windows, which had some sort of green growth round the edges. All this backed up the view that werewolves were not as classy as their vampire friends. '_Bloody vampires. No wonder they steal all the credit for being the sexy ones._' George sighed and looked around, trying to make out more than just shapes. He was helpfully un-aided by his glasses.

"A little dark for you is it?" Vial sneered.

"Oh, bugger off." Nina said, though the question hadn't really been directed at her and she knew it.

"Manners, girly." Vial patted her on the head. They hear him move about a bit before he flicked a switch and the lights buzzed on.

The result was unimpressive. Nina had had one of two scenarios in her head: the first being that a dim glow would come into being, giving them little more than a glimpse of some labyrinth before them; the second was that some bright strip light was turned on, blinding both of them momentarily. That was how it would have happened in the movies. The reality of the situation was that the bulbs were neither dim nor bright, and illuminated little more than a room with a desk, some plastic chairs and a beaten up sofa in the corner. The floor was a dull brown carpet and the walls were a boring shade of off-white, though that might have just been years of dirt and discolouring.

"Care to take a seat?" Vial gestured towards the plastic chairs, and they both followed suit. "Oh no; you take the sofa, girl. I think you understand." Nina did as she was told and so did George, pulling his chair up to the desk, opposite to where Vial was now sitting. Vial rattled around with some of the desk drawers before producing a packet. He took one of the contents and placed it on the desk and then offered one to George.

"Cigar?"

"Err, no I don't smoke. So anyway, what's with..." Vial put up his hand to stop him and lit his cigar. He seemed in no hurry to explain.

"What do you think of the place then boy? I gather you've been in vampire _houses_." He spat the last word. "How do our headquarters compare?" George was tempted to tell him just what he thought of the grimy little room which was the werewolf 'headquarter', but realised that he was at the mercy of this loon and thought better of it.

"Well, you know, they're different." He sighed "Can we just cut to the chase?"

"Alright, alright, here's the but of the matter. Vampires and werewolves just don't mix. Surely you must know that?"

"I was aware of the tradition, yes."

"But you _do_ mix with them."

"With one."

"It amounts to more or less the same thing. The only thing you could have done to make your situation any worse would have been to sleep with one. But thank god you didn't; you would have made my life very difficult."

"Your life's difficult? How do you think mine must look right now?"

"Quite, quite. But you see George – or you will see – that I am your friend." Vial chuckled as George stared at him, mouth wide open.

"I don't know what your mother taught you, but in my family, threatening people with unknown quantities of pain was not something generally ranked as friendliness."

"And you see George, I know that. I know that very well and I can quite understand how you must be feeling, but…"

"No you don't! You don't. I'm the one who's been dragged halfway across Bristol on foot. No, let me guess, we've probably passed Bath _**(**__*__**)**_ by now or maybe we're in London! And you threaten me through my girlfriend, and then you take me here and offer me a bloody cigar!" George exploded. He sat, breathing hard, baring his teeth at Vial.

"Calm down, boy. No need to panic. I really am your friend you know. You'd certainly agree with me if you saw what some of the rest of us have to say. I'm here to protect you. Didn't I say I was the mayor? I didn't mean that I was actually a mayor of anywhere, but I do take charge of this area with regards to Lycans. And you've broken some of our rules; some pretty important rules at that."

"Wait." Nina said from the corner of the room. "You mean to tell me that there are more of you? Enough to warrant having a mayor and separate laws?"

"But of course, girly."

"George, why didn't you tell me?"

"I had no idea Nina."

"Which is a good thing George, you might have told that thing you have in your house you call a friend. And we couldn't have that. Vampires aren't very keen on werewolves. We're enemies."

"Well this one is my friend."

"You may think that."

"He is! You weren't there. He saved my life, about a month after I got scratched. There were other vampires. They would have killed me if it hadn't been for him. He saved me, and then he took me on, looked after me. What the hell do you call friendship?"

"Oh, my dear boy, I see you have been deceived. He'll stay your friend as long as it benefits him, and then – if you're lucky – he'll just leave you behind. If you're unlucky, well, he'll kill you. Then he'll join his vampires again."

"Mitchell isn't like that. He's on the wagon."

"Is that so?" Vial asked. It was a rhetorical question. George thought. There had been times when he'd wondered about how loyal Mitchell really was. When he'd gone out with the girl with the polo-mint hair for example. Mitchell had more or less asked George if he'd wanted him to put a word in for him, but then he'd tried to take her for himself. Had Lauren not killed her, Mitchell might very well have done. But surely it was ridiculous to be questioning Mitchell's friendship? Vial was smirking at him. His expression seemed to say '_You know, don't you? You know that I'm right._'

"But George, this is beside the point; back to all these rules and regulations we have to sort out. You were indeed right to accept this vampire's help to begin with, but you should have killed him as soon as it became convenient. You broke no laws there, but you didn't do yourself any favours either. Then you associate with this blood-sucker you're so keen to call a friend. He becomes, you might say, your consort.

Then you reject one of our kind and…" George looked confused. "You knew him as Tully. You rejected him, and he came to us. That sort of rejection from a private home is not really allowed, although it is a petty crime; a sort of werewolf form of littering or pick-pocketing.

Normally we would have sent him away – you may remember me saying how we scorn those of us who are, shall we say, free-lance – but in this instance, we rewarded him for his useful information and filed it away. We might normally have ignored him, but the detail about you sharing a house with a ghost and a leech – particularly the leech – was very interesting. We looked into your case then. We gave you chances to redeem yourself George. We really did. We thought that maybe after your big fight with Herrick, you might turn on that friend of yours. We waited. It is a little time back, is not George? A few months. You have made no move whatsoever.

The way I see it is this; you either do what you did to that vile Herrick to Mitchell the next time you turn, or you die. I prefer to think that you'd choose the former. It is not only messy to kill a werewolf – either as a human or as a wolf – but we are also still fairly low in numbers. Yes, there are enough of us around to warrant mayors and headquarters, but not a great deal, and we are spread out over very large areas. What is more, we really don't have enough to do any major-scale combat against the mosquitoes. We're always getting beaten up and killed like you almost were some years ago. They are huge numbers of them to just one of us. So it would be a bad idea to reduce our population further. And, to be honest, I don't really want to kill you."

"The choice is my life or his?"

"Not quite, George. The choice is your life or his un-life. There would be other forfeits of course, but they would be significantly less difficult to bear."

"What sort of forfeits?"

"Oh, a sort of community service really. You'd have to help some of the more experienced of us with menial tasks, do a couple of group vampire-killings, that sort of thing. Oh, and you'd have to share her, of course, but then that's more or less normal procedure for all of us." He said, nodding at Nina.

"Share her?!"

"Almost all of us have to do it, myself and a few others being the only exceptions. It would be different if she were still human, but you scratched her by accident, didn't you? " George nodded.

"I don't see how that matters."

"It makes all the difference. It would be too complicated to go round explaining to all the human lovers of our kind that they had offer their services to others every now and again. But werewolf women are different. See, imagine, you've just done your first couple of transformations and you don't really know the ropes yet, so someone in power tells you that you can't just be with your chosen werewolf partner, you have to sleep around a bit. It's either that or give up all relationships altogether. Most will choose the first option, just happy that they can be with their love at least most of the time."

"That's ridiculous!"

Nina gave a moan from the corner and they both looked at her to see her clutching her stomach and retching. She began rocking backwards and forwards. George turned back to Vial.

"See what you've done to her, bastard. She'll never just sleep with any of your lot. You've made her ill just thinking about it!"

"No George, it's worse than that." She gave a muffled cry and clenched her jaw together. "I believe she's miscarrying."

"Miscarrying? What the fuck? She's pregnant?"

"Yes, but not for much longer at this rate. But you never know; they might be able to save her at the hospital if we get her there quickly. Perhaps even the baby." George was at her side, clutching her to him.

"Why didn't you tell me? Oh why didn't you tell me?"

"So you see, George," continued Vial "it would be a rash decision to tell me which option you'd prefer. And to tell me now. So what'll it be? Your death or his demise? If you don't tell me soon, it'll probably be hers."

"Bastard!" George screamed.

He was desperate. He wouldn't have chosen had it not been for this. He was sure he could have fought his way out of the situation, what with Vial saying that their kind was so dispersed. He was old, too, and probably not as strong as he boasted; he'd probably been bluffing. But that was no longer an option. The seconds ticked away and so did the baby's chances at life. More to the point, so did Nina's.

"I'm waiting, George. Which do you choose? One little answer, George, and she'll be off to A and E."

It was an ultimatum. And what an ultimatum.

_**(**__*__**)**__ It seems wrong to add this at the end of this cliff-hanger, but it might explain a little. The reference to 'Bath' may seem somewhat strange. It refers to the city of Bath, in England, not too far away from the city of Bristol (although too far to walk in that period of time, hence George's use of it). Its name comes from the Latin 'Aquae Sulis' (Waters of the god Sulis) as Bath has a natural hot water spring below the ground which the Romans used as baths during their occupation of Britain. I hope this clears some things up a bit; I'm not talking nonsense, really!_


	19. Chapter 19 Bad things happen in pairs

_Chapter 19 – Bad things happen in pairs_

"I can't put up with this anymore!" Annie yelled.

"Annie, I don't understand. What do you mean?" said Emiline, backing away from the shouting ghost. They were in the kitchen. Emiline had once again been trying to help with the washing-up. Annie had refused violently, and had snatched away the tea cup she'd been about to wash, loosing her grip on it and letting it drop to the floor. The result was that Annie ended up standing in cold tea and a smashed mug. Then she'd exploded, screaming that she couldn't take it.

"I'm sorry about the cup Annie. I'll clean it up if you like. Go and sit down. Leave this to me."

"No, no, you see this is exactly the problem!"

"What's the problem?" asked Mitchell, sticking his head 'round the corner, making them both jump. Neither of them had noticed him come in. Mitchell sloped to the fridge where Emiline was now backed.

"Mind out Annie; I want to get something out of there."

"Annie? Annie! I'm over here Mitchell! See what I mean? You're even getting us confused now. George called me Emiline twice the other day."

"Look girls, what's the problem?" he asked, scooting Emiline out of the way of the fridge "Actually, no; don't tell me."

"She's being annoying! She won't leave anything to me. She's giving herself the moral high ground here and taking up all your attention. Then she throws depressions and fainting fits." Annie wined. Emiline muffled a gasp at the below-the-belt mention of her various ill periods.

"I thought I said not to tell me." Mitchell replied, taking a sip from a can of lemonade. "I don't get what you're complaining about Annie; before you were always moaning at us for making too much mess and not tidying up, and along comes your helper from heaven, and you moan about that too."

"It's not like that." Annie said, hanging her head "See what I mean about her taking the moral high ground?"

The phone rang. Nobody picked up, and they let the answer machine take the call, but the caller left no message.

"God that is the 4th time this evening that they called and didn't leave a message." Annie mumbled.

"Remember they called twice in the afternoon too."

"Didn't it occur to either of you to pick it up?" They both shook their heads in unison, making Mitchell laugh.

"It's not funny Mitchell! Neither of us technically lives here after all." she shouted, but he kept on laughing "Right, that's it; she's leaving." Mitchell stopped laughing abruptly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Annie."

"I'm not being ridiculous, I'm being perfectly sensible."

"You're not serious?"

"Deadly serious."

"It's alright," Emiline said "I'll leave, if that's what Annie wants."

"No, now you're being ridiculous." Mitchell replied '_Has this whole house gone mad?_' he thought.

"I don't want to cause conflict. Really, I'd be happier to do what Annie wants."

"What if it's not what I want?" He said, giving her a dark look "What if I really couldn't bear to see you go?" He waited for an answer. Emiline swallowed.

The 'phone rang again.

"Oh damn that bloody 'phone! Mitchell, you answer it."

"Okay, alright." He padded over to where the thing was ringing in its annoyingly high-pitched tone.

"Hello? What's that? Oh really. It's me, John Mitchell. Yes I work there too. No, now you mention it I haven't. About ten this morning at the hospital. Her as well? No, I'll try his mobile, but I haven't got her number. Yeah, I hope they'll turn up. In an hour? Ok, then I'll ring the police. Bye." He put ended the call.

"George and Nina went missing at about 10:15 this morning."

"They what?" Annie screeched.

"Yeah, the call was from one of the staff at the hospital; apparently they've been ringing all day which is what worried them. They thought that they might have just been skiving off work, but when no one answered here or Nina's place, they kind of didn't know what to do."

"Are they alright?" Annie asked.

"Well I don't know if they're alright or not, do I Annie? Because they're missing. Anyway, the hospital is going to ring again in about an hour. We decided that if they still haven't turned up or picked up their 'phones, then we should call the police. They're going to ring around other hospitals as well to see if they've somehow ended up there."

"Oh my god! We have to do something."

"Like what Annie? I'll try his mobile, but I doubt it'll be much good. I mean how come none of us noticed earlier that he wasn't there?"

"Oh what are we going to do?" She wailed.

"Call the hospital again." Said Emiline from the hall.

"What? Why?"

"We're going to need an ambulance."

And there was George. Emiline had opened the door; somehow she'd known instinctively. There he was, passed out and bleeding on the front step.


	20. Chapter 20 Only one choice

_Chapter 20 - Only one choice_

And then it dawned on him; there really was no dilemma. He almost laughed at himself for his stupidity, as the problem became so simple. There was no question of him giving himself up, not now anyway. He could not be sure that Vial would take Nina to the hospital which ever way he chose. After all, he obviously held women in extremely low regard. But if George stayed with her, stayed awake, he would be able to look after her.

"I chose to live." George said, admiring the way in which he said those words. It was as if he'd made a statement as mundane as 'I like reading Agatha Christie' or 'He works in an office'.

"Good boy. Now, I'll make the call. I have a stolen mobile you see, and it's untraceable. I even have a voice-scrambling package so that I come out sounding Scottish. Quite remarkable."

He dialled the emergency code.

"Hello. Yes, an ambulance please. I've found a girl at the side of the pavement on Oldmane Street. Outside a house with a red door, number three. She looks like she's taken a bit of a beating up, and she's unconscious. Ok." He laughed a little as he killed the call.

"What do you mean 'she's taken a bit of a beating up'?"

"Well, you see George, I'm going to have to fabricate a bit of evidence here. It's for your own good you know. I couldn't have it looking like you'd skipped work, now, could I?" Vial simpered. George gulped.

"You don't mean… you wouldn't dare…" George's sentence was cut off as he hit the floor and felt a sharp pain on his face. Then came a sickening noise and he clutched at his side. He was vaguely aware of Nina screaming, but that too was cut short with a thud. He tasted blood and tried to reach out to where he thought Nina had fallen, but was stopped with a large boot crushing his hand.

"Don't hurt her." He moaned "She's hurt enough already."

"Don't worry George, just superficial wounds."

Vial searched both their coat pockets and took their wallets, mobile 'phones and Nina's cigarette and lighter. He also took a penknife from his own pocked and ripped down her scrub shirt. He laughed nastily as she tried to cover the degrading scar across her abdomen.

George felt himself being dragged out of the room and back through the front door. He heard a key in a car lock and was thrown unceremoniously onto a back seat. He heard Nina being placed beside him, on the floor. The door was shut and the engine started after about 10 minutes of speed-driving, the car stopped and the door was opened again. Vial pulled Nina out, but left George, arranging the girl on the pavement. He got back in the car and started the engine.

"What? You can't just leave her."

"Don't worry George; the ambulance is on its way. Listen, you can hear it now. Only about 10 seconds from turning the corner, I'd say." It was only a minute's drive until Vial stopped the car again and pulled George out. He put him on the pavement.

"Remember what was said, boy." Vial whispered in his ear. It was the last thing he heard before a boot sent him into complete oblivion.


	21. Chapter 21 Receptions

_Chapter 21 – Receptions_

George was shaken out of his unconscious state by the sounds of surrounding panic.

"What do we do?" came from what must have been Annie's mouth. To George, it seemed like it was being whispered down a 3 foot long plumbing line.

"He can't stay there." Had it been either of the two girls speaking, George wouldn't have been sure which one it was, the level of distortion of sound growing by the minute. As it was, the clear Irish accent left no room for speculation.

"You're not supposed to move people when they're hurt, in case of internal injury." He couldn't tell who it came from.

Then the outline of a face wavered into view. George groaned as they pressed their finger gently onto the side of his face.

"Where?" he mumbled

"Mitchell, hand me his glasses."

"I don't think this is the time… oh alright. Don't you think I should be doing this; I am the one who works at the hospital you know."

"Then do something!" It was unmistakably Annie.

"Yes, do something; call the ambulance."

"Christ! I'd forgotten." There was the sound of two sets of pounding feet and then Mitchell speaking into the 'phone.

"Right George." Said a soft voice. The owner placed Georges glasses back on his face and he saw more clearly through his un-swollen eye. It was Emiline. She pulled him very carefully through the doorway, and shut the door behind her. The rest passed in a blur of shouts, groans, sharp pains and paramedics. The anaesthetic took him right out, but he went with one question playing on his mind. '_Nina?_' So it wasn't really a question, but it was the most his befuddled mind could work out.

**~X~**

The dreadful sensation of awakening from a drugged-up state made Nina want to throw up, but it beat the searing pain in her lower abdomen. '_The baby!_' Nina tried to sit up, suddenly panicking, but somebody restrained her.

"She's waking up."

"I can see that. Calm down, you're alright now. You looked worse than you were though, I can tell you. Gave some of us a bit of a fright with those big bruises, but none of your organs were damaged. You had a lucky escape in my opinion."

"The baby?" Nina croaked.

"Never mind that now, the main thing is that you're alive."

"But is the baby?" Nobody answered. "What happened?" she cried at the top of her lungs, but it came out little more than a whisper. She was left in silence.


	22. Chapter 22 Moral High Ground

_Chapter 22 – Moral high ground_

Back at home, things were strained. Both Annie and Emiline had stayed; only Mitchell had gone in the ambulance with George. One of the paramedics had raised an eyebrow at Mitchell's 'friend' from London, and would have raised them both had he been able to see Emiline too. But that hadn't been the main focus of the operation. The main focus had been getting George to the hospital. The paramedics hadn't seemed too worried, however, saying that the wounds seemed fairly superficial before jumping into the back of the ambulance.

They hadn't wanted Annie to come. Not that they'd said that, but they'd implied it. She stayed home, whispering to Emiline that she could probably hop in too if she wanted, but she declined, telling Annie that she'd stay and help clean up. Annie groaned inwardly, dreading anymore time alone with the girl.

Emiline was the one who broke the silence.

"I was serious about leaving. If I really bother you, then I'll leave. Just give me a couple of days; I need to think about what to do." The sense of relief that Annie felt was overwhelming.

"I'm sorry Em, but I just can't stand you being in the house all the time. Of course you can have a few days."

"Don't be sorry, you're not the first person to say something to that effect."

"Why? Has George said anything?"

"I didn't mean recently."

"Oh. Just don't tell Mitchell, okay? He'll give us both hell. I'll tell him after you've gone."

"Alright."

There wasn't much blood on the floor, considering, and Annie left Emiline to the cleaning, as that was what she so clearly wanted. '_See what I mean about the moral high ground?_'


	23. Chapter 23 Uncomfortable Confessions

_Chapter 23 – Confessions of an uncomfortable kind_

Nina let out another wail and George held her close. They hadn't wanted to discharge them from the hospital so easily, but Nina's insistent misery had made them think twice about keeping them in. They'd been right about the wounds as well – they hadn't been as serious as they'd looked. George had been unlucky enough to have two of his back teeth chipped and one of his fingers on his hand had been broken, but apart from that, the damage had been minimal. Nina was bruised and had a split lip, but there had been no internal injury, except for the obvious, which was why she was crying. There had been no hope for the baby.

They'd left the hospital as soon as they feasibly could. They had ended up back at the little pink house, sitting at the table. George had suggested going upstairs, but Nina had refused. He understood why; his bedroom was a place for love-making, not for mourning lost children. The others sat round looking awkward whilst George tried to console the no-longer-pregnant Nina.

"I think it would be best if we went over to your house Nina." George said, waiting for an answer. He cursed whoever the clever whatsit was who'd come up with the idea of bringing the pair back to the shared house as opposed to Nina's flat.

"Mitchell, would you do the honours and drop us over at Nina's?"

"If you direct me."

A couple of minutes later, in the car, Nina was asleep leaning against George. Mitchell glanced back at them both in the rear-view mirror, envious of their relationship, he'd never had anything that safe; every minute had been spent with an internal battle not to bite whichever girl was on his arm. '_Not so envious of their situation though._' Nina looked distraught, despite being asleep. George just looked exhausted.

"What happened?" Mitchell asked.

"You already know that; it's what I said in hospital."

"I meant what really happened." Mitchell said, irritated. George sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be let off the hook easily at the same time as knowing that he couldn't tell Mitchell the truth.

"Was it one of my vampires?" Mitchell asked, gritting his teeth, readying himself for the prospect of another battle.

"No. It was… a werewolf."

"A werewolf? What did he want?" Mitchell had never heard of werewolves threatening each other.

"My cooperation."

"With what?"

"He… wanted Nina." George finished. It wasn't completely untrue. Mitchell shook his head in disgust. They carried on in silence for a while.

"Did you know?" Mitchell asked

"About what?" George was confused

"Did you know about her?" Mitchell nodded to where Nina was in the rear-view mirror.

"No."

"Did she know?"

"I think she did. Actually, I'm sure she did; she'd been dropping hints. I think that's what all those weird masked conversations were about, Mitchell." They both nodded. "It's a right turning here." George added.

"Annie wants Emiline to leave."

"What? Wait, Mitchell, I don't think that this is really the time."

"She says that she can't stand her anymore, that she martyrs herself and claws away all the moral high ground. She says that Emiline's been taking up too much of my attention." Mitchell didn't think he could convey to George how desperate the idea of Emiline going away made him. What made it worse was that he didn't understand himself why it mattered so much to him. George sighed.

"Probably just girl stuff, Mitchell."

"It's my job to say things like that, not yours George."

"Right. Would it bother you that much if she left?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"I… don't know. It's different for you; you've never had a drinking partner." Said Mitchell, slightly smug with his little pun

"You alc-y." George carried on the joke. He thought a little "Do you like Emiline?"

"Do you think I'd have put up with her this long if I hated her?"

"I mean _really _like her." George said, pulling his sleeping girlfriend closer.

"Which turn-off here, George?"

**~X~**

George placed Nina down on the sofa. He thought about waking her, but then thought it wiser to leave her to sleep; he didn't think he could take any more inconsolable weeping. He didn't know how he felt about the loss of their baby. He hadn't known it had existed until it hadn't, although he'd had some sickening fears about it for a while. Now they'd lost it, he felt the dull ache of loss, although he knew that if it had lived, he'd have hated and feared it. It was like when some teenage lout got killed in a fight he'd started, and then became an angel at his funeral. It was a lot easier to like people when you didn't have to live with them.

"George?" Nina croaked from the sofa.

"Yes?" He sighed.

"Do you love me?"

"Of course, of course I do."

"Even though I lost the baby?" she muttered. George was stricken.

"Of course I love you. Even though you… miscarried my child."

"It wasn't yours," she said, making George hesitate "it was _ours_." He breathed a sigh of relief inwardly. They sat for a while.

"Maybe it was a good thing that I miscarried."

"What?"

"I was… unsure I wanted it at all. I knew about it, but I procrastinated about telling you because I wasn't sure I'd keep it."

"You were going to abort it anyway?"

"No, I'd just decided that I was going to tell you. I did want it after all, I'd just been scared. And as soon as I knew that that was my decision, that I wanted to have the baby… then I miscarried."

"Oh Nina."

"You don't think it was my fault?"

"No, no! Don't be like that."

"It's a little narcissistic to think like that I suppose." She replied "You know… I knew I what was happening the minute Vial threw me onto those sacks. I just knew that I was going to miscarry, but I didn't know what to do."

"It started then? I didn't think it could be that drawn-out."

"No, I just knew it would happen from that point in. I think it actually happened once we got to that awful place. But in spite of all that, maybe it was for the best. Was either of us ready to be parents and bring another person into the world? Do we even have the money? I don't think I'd make much of a mother thinking like that."

"You'd have made a wonderful mother, and you still can." He said. She looked at him, wondering. "Nina, let's get married."

"George is this really the time? I don't know."

"C'mon. No time like the present. Will you or won't you? I can't risk loosing you."

"Is this because of what Vial said?"

"It's not about that Nina, it's because I love you. God, I love you so much. You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me. So, will you?"


	24. Chapter 24 Close to you

_Chapter 24 – Close to you_

"Hi," he said, putting his hand on the back of her shoulder. He was tired and he wanted to just go upstairs and sleep, but he needed something else too. "What do you do all night Em?" She sighed at the abbreviation of her name, but it seemed that she was getting used to it.

"I potter about. Clean up a bit sometimes. I don't think Annie likes it much." She said, rinsing out another coffee mug.

"Sod what Annie likes."

"Don't;" she shook her head "I don't like you talking about Annie like that. She's a lovely person, so kind, so generous. Of course I care what Annie likes and – more specifically – dislikes." He was stumped '_What is this girl?_'

"She wants to get rid of you."

"I make things difficult for her." Neither spoke as she finished the washing-up.

She let the water out of the washing basin and stacked the crockery on the draining-board to dry. She wiped her hands on the hand towel and turned towards him. Their closeness was a surprise to her and made her jump again; she had not realised how near to her Mitchell had been standing. Now she had to tilt her face up to look him in the eye. Once again, her fragility made him catch his breath, just as she had caught hers.

"Look, this isn't the conversation I wanted to have." He said.

"No?" Her tone was sarcastic, something Mitchell had never before heard in her voice.

"I was going to ask you if you would..." He thought about bottling-out and saying 'like to watch a midnight rerun of a 'Poirot' episode', but thought a pretty implausible thing for him to be asking.

"You want to feed." It was a statement, not a question.

"No; I wanted to know if you would join me upstairs… in my room."

"What for?" she asked, tilting her head to the side in that unintentionally-sexy way she had. '_God this one is difficult._'

It was as bad – no worse – as when you finally plucked up the courage to ask that girl (the one you'd secretly wanted since you were twelve) if she _liked_ you. So then you finally asked her, and even though you'd asked other girls, even though you'd kissed other girls, even though they practically threw themselves at you, this was _the girl_ who had sent your dreams silly since before you could understand why. And you asked her, and you just about hid the tremble in your voice, and then... and then she said "What?" and asked you to repeat yourself because she hadn't heard. So after all that fretting and dreaming and practicing by yourself in your bedroom, you just ended up saying "Oh, never mind!" and running away before you turned into a wobbling jelly of embarrassed-person. Mitchell was determined not to let that happen this time.

"Look… What do you think? What do you think I might want to take you upstairs for?" Mitchell ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"He wants to sleep with you." It was Annie, from the doorway. Apparently she'd been listening to the conversation without the other two noticing. Emiline laughed.

"You must know that I don't sleep."

"He didn't mean that kind of sleeping." Annie was angry, but she kept it out of her voice, trying to stay as dead-pan as possible; after all, it wasn't the girl's fault that Mitchell had got fixated with her. Now, with Emiline's promise that she would leave, Annie was able to approach these matters with a much more balanced attitude. She looked at the girl's confused expression, and then up at Mitchell's hungry, predatory one. Suddenly, it felt wrong for her to interfere so selfishly, but on the other hand she knew that she could not let nature and impulse take its course on the matter. Annie had known Mitchell trick – or, as he'd put it '_persuade_' – girls into going to bed with him and it would be fair on neither of them, especially with Emiline's impending departure. To talk to the girl would be unnecessarily mean and upsetting; to do nothing would be nothing less than careless and cruel. That left the option of having a private little word with Mitchell.

"Mitchell…"

"This isn't really any of your business, Annie."

"Just hear me out Mitchell." She said, but turned to Emiline "Why don't you go and make the beds upstairs?" the ghost didn't bother with walking, merely popping out of and back into existence.

"Do you not find it a little interfering to go around messing with people's private affairs?"

"It's not about that is it? Look, don't you think that she's, well, a little young for you?"

"I think it's more about how long you spend here, not how old you were biologically when you actually died. C'mon, she's been around a while, the age-gap's not that enormous, and it's not as if either of us are about to get _older_… biologically that is. Besides, I think she can fend for herself; if she wanted to escape, she could just teleport away, or whatever it is that you ghosts do." Couldn't Annie just leave him and Emiline alone?

"I'm sure she can fend for herself, but she might not understand."

"I don't think she's that innocent Annie. They did have a small amount of education back where she came from."

"That's not what I meant; she might not get the implications. Think about it, she's never had a serious relationship before, so it's not even like she's had the in-between bit. She's not had a string of not-boyfriends who took her out to cheap restaurants, museums and movies. She's not used to idea of being attracted to someone enough to actually go out with them. God! She even said that she'd never kissed anybody." She _was _becoming angry now; he just wouldn't _get it_. And then all of a sudden he did.

"Okay, Annie, I promise I won't touch her."

"You do?"

"I won't even try to kiss her. Are you happy now?" Mitchell didn't wait for an answer, just stomped upstairs. He knew that he'd keep his promise, but he didn't like it. What Annie had said was all well and good, but Mitchell objected to her sticking her nose in like that. He didn't know how he'd explain the argument to Emiline, but he guessed he'd probably end up drinking from her; it was the non-taboo way of being close to her. He was sure that – whilst she might not like it – Annie would at least permit that.


	25. Chapter 25 She was human

_Chapter 25 – She was human_

Emiline knew what Mitchell had wanted, of course she'd known, but she couldn't, wouldn't think about it. Some dull, tarnished memories came back from the past, but she brushed them away; she was determined not to let these last few days become sordid and hasty. Letting him feed on the other hand… well that was different.

She felt him fall asleep beside her, and let the moment be perfect for precisely five seconds, before teleporting downstairs. Annie was waiting.

"What'd he want?" She asked, pitiless.

"He was… thirsty." Emiline replied, shrugging. Annie knew the truth of the matter, and Emiline knew that Annie knew, but thankfully Annie didn't know that Emiline knew that she knew. '_Poor girl,'_ Annie thought _'doesn't know what she's into. Nowhere to go, no one to go to…I almost feel sorry for her really._'

"You should say goodbye to George before you leave."

"I'll pop over tomorrow." Emiline said. '_Tomorrow? I thought she meant a few weeks, not hours._'

"Do you know where Nina's house is?"

"Yes; I saw it when I was first following George around." Annie nodded, and Emiline turned away. She almost called her back, but stopped herself. In that moment, she could feel nothing but remorse for the other ghost. She wanted to say "Don't listen to me, I'm wrong; go for this, love him, and make it work. You think you've got forever, but you only really get one chance at love. I should know." But she couldn't say it, because she was human and so she was selfish and she couldn't afford to loose her friend.


	26. Chapter 26

_Chapter 26_

Mitchell sipped his coffee, given to him by Annie. He was, as of yet, unaware of Emiline's absence.

"Toast?" Annie asked, desperate to put off the moment at which he would begin to ask after the other ghost.

"Umm, yeah, thanks," He replied, picking up his mug again "what's all this in aid of?"

"Mitchell! Can't I just make you breakfast? I thought you boys had got used to my tea-making habits." Mitchell shrugged

"S'pose. Bit late for breakfast though isn't it? It's half two in the afternoon Annie."

"You over-slept."

They waited in silent monotony until the 'phone made them both jump.

"What with all the calls we've had recently… well." Annie said, implying that Mitchell should pick it up, not only because he was the only official member of the house present, but because she feared what she might be told.

Mitchell nodded and trudged over, irritated and confused; he'd woken to find Emiline gone from his room and not immediately obvious around the house, and Annie was acting strangely.

"Hello?"

"Mitchell, it's George. Are you free today?"

"Err, yeah, I am as a matter of fact."

"Can you meet me the old disused warehouse at 5:30? You know the one."

"Sure." Mitchell replied, to a dead line; George had already hung up. Yes, he knew the warehouse; it was the place he had originally arranged for George to transform in, before the saving grace which was the solitary cell at the hospital. George had been nervous about transforming in it, in case anyone used it as a den or hideout of any kind. 'They might be criminals and druggies Mitchell, but I can't just go around killing them… and what if the door doesn't hold and I get out?' The problem had soon been solved though by their new employment.

"Who was that?" asked Annie, still nervous.

"George. Funny conversation actually, he sounded a bit… tense. He wants me to meet him later today."

"Why?"

"No idea, maybe about his transformation; it is about now isn't it?" Mitchell asked, running his hand through his hair. Annie nodded a response.

"It's tonight."

"Well, there you go then… Where's Em by the way?"

~X~

The girl went unnoticed by the pedestrians, in spite of her unusual clothing, and – more to the point – in spite of her ability to travel from one street corner to the next whilst ignoring the air in-between. So nobody saw her pained expression, her longing eyes and her bleeding wrists. She arrived, finally at the house she recognised as Nina's, and – forgetting to knock – walked through the door. She found herself in a small hall, next to a wet umbrella and a coat stand, looking sad at its lack of coats. She heard talking from within the flat, and started towards the door, but stopped herself, noticing that the voices were raised. She put her head to the wall, but was unable to make out any words. Feeling like a criminal, she let herself fall through the wall, to be faced by George's back within very close proximity. Suddenly furtive again, she disappeared behind the full length curtain she spotted hanging inside the window. She had not been seen.

"George, there must be some other way to work this out!" Emiline recognised the voice as Nina's and, peering round the curtain, saw that she had been standing the other side of George, shielded from view by his height, just as Emiline had been behind his back. Still unsure of what she was doing and why, Emiline pressed her back to the window and listened, an intense feeling of guilt spreading through her. Perhaps it was just that she was envious of the couple's seemingly perfect relationship, or perhaps it was some strange premonition, but either way, she hung on every word they said.

"Nina," began George "you don't seem to be hearing me; I can't run the risk of loosing you. It almost happened the other night, don't you see? I can't… I won't have anything like that happening again." He ended at a near shout.

"You don't have to loose me. And stop talking like you own me; you don't; I haven't even agreed to marry you yet, and you won't own me even then. There must be some other way to work this out." Nina shouted back.

"Maybe, but it's too dangerous, this is the only way to be sure that we're safe."

"But it isn't… who knows what Vial might ask you to do after this? It could just be one more favour after one more favour. I don't see how killing him is going to work." Emiline could hear something like a sulk in Nina's voice as she said this.

"We just have to trust Vial on this one. If it comes to it, well, I'll have to confront him, or better still, run. Look Nina, it isn't just one werewolf against us both on this; there're loads… hundreds possibly, by what Vial said, and it sounds like they're all completely loyal to him."

"He's bluffing." Nina replied, sure of herself.

"And if he's not? Fancy being rented out to 3 werewolves at a time Nina? Fancy being taken away from me?" George was answered by silence. "I have to do it."

"And after all he's done for you. He set you and me up together, you said he saved your life… and now you're going to kill him." Nina sounded desperate now, clearly loosing her case.

"I don't want to Nina, but I'm going to have to. He was willing to sacrifice himself for us before, I'm sure he'd do it again."

Emiline was utterly confused by the conversation and was contemplating leaving and then coming back in, announced, in order to say her goodbye's, when Nina said something she couldn't ignore. She'd been disturbed enough by what she'd already heard, but assumed that there was some at least partially reasonable explanation for it, but what she heard next was so much worse:

"So you've arranged a time and a place to… _murder_ your best friend. You're going to murder Mitchell!"

~X~

"Annie, what have you done?!" Mitchell yelled, but it was the forecast result, and she took it unflinchingly.

"I haven't done anything." Even as Annie said the words, she knew that she was lying; she was the instigator of Emiline's departure, though Mitchell may have provoked her to do it. "We talked, Mitchell, and we both decided she'd be better off leaving."

"Oh yeah; then why did she just _leave_? If she wanted to go so much then she would have had the decency to say goodbye. If she wanted to go then she would have known that nothing I could have said would have changed her mind!" He had a point. Annie wished she'd put up with Emiline, thinking that it was more trouble to have sent her away.

Mitchell fingered the note she'd left 'Mitchell' it read 'I'm sorry I had to leave, and I'm sorry I couldn't tell you; Annie thought it would be best.' It said it all. He checked his watch, and cursed.

"We'll continue this later," he hissed, picking up his jacket from off the back of a chair "I've got to meet George in 3 quarters of an hour, and the warehouse isn't all that close." He stormed out, cursing again followed by Annie pleading him to be careful.

As soon as the door was slammed, the 'phone rang again. Assuming it would only be George calling, Annie picked up. She was greeted not, however, by George's friendly voice, but by a strange hissing sound. Confused, Annie was about to put down the line, when the hissing seemed to say her name.

"H-hello?" she whispered back.

"Annie? Or is it Mitchell?" The hissing sounded strangely hopeful upon saying Mitchell's name.

"It's Annie… who's calling?" she asked, hoping that it was just a bad line or interference with a mobile communication.

"Emiline… your voice sounds strange." The crackling on the other end of the line replied. The answer surprised Annie, but she continued.

"Yours too, but…"

"Yes: Annie, you must stop Mitchell going out to meet George. I don't care what you say to him, but you have to stop him leaving the house." The noises were becoming clearer, more distinctly a voice, and more distinctly Emiline's.

"What? Why?"

"Can you do it or not?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He's already left."

"Damn." The line went dead, deaf to Annie's questioning

~X~

Emiline heard George leave, with Nina shouting after him not to do it. She stepped out from behind the curtain.

"Nina," she said, making the nurse spin round "where's he going?"

"Where did you come from?" Nina screeched, panicked and confused.

"I was behind the curtain, listening. Yes, I heard everything, but that's not the point… where's George going?"

"You were _listening_? You listened to, to… all that?" Nina stammered.

"Look," Emiline said, frustrated "I'm sorry, but we can take this up again later. I realise that you don't know me very well but you've got to help me; _where the hell is George meeting Mitchell?!_"

Nina didn't answer for a while, but Emiline continued to stare, her gaze getting more and more desperate.

"I don't know… alright, he arranged to meet at some old warehouse, but I don't know where that is. This is all George's doing, don't you see?"

"You really don't know?" Emiline asked, grabbing Nina by the arm and looking desperate.

"No! Wait, I think I might know the one. It's a gamble, but… I guess you won't leave unless I help you. Look, what's it to you anyway?"

"Well, do _you_ want to see Mitchell dead? Your dealings with him may have been limited, but I'm fairly sure you don't want to have a part in him being torn limb from limb by your… boyfriend."

"Look, I know the way," said Nina, relenting "I'll take you. Maybe we could get a taxi, I don't know." Nina felt the return of the horrid sickness that she'd felt when George had first told her what he was going to do to Mitchell, and she knew that Emiline was right – they could not simply do nothing.

"No time. Do you have a map?"

"Yes, but…"

"Bring it here," Nina did as she was told "and find the place."

"I don't know where…"

"Do it!"

"Right, it's there I think," said Nina quietly, circling the spot with a pencil "quite close actually. Well, close to here, not so close to the pink house." But Nina found that she was talking to thin air, as Emiline had already disappeared.

~X~

Mitchell was still furious, but he vowed to keep it under control for George; it wasn't his fault after all. Walking fast, the warehouse finally came into sight, albeit at the top of an imposing looking hill that Mitchell had just come to. He had taken the bus (_'the bloody BUS!'_ he thought'_Vampires aren't supposed to use public transport; they're meant to turn into bats and fly around, or run so fast you can't see them, like in 'Starlight' and 'Full Moon' or whatever. JESUS._'), the car having refused to start, and he didn't have a lot of time to spare. Being winter night was coming early and Mitchell knew that, if it really was George's time of the month, he was going to have to hurry if he wanted to catch him before he transformed. Looking at his watch, he swore under his breath; it was now a quarter to six.

~X~

Emiline blinked in the darkness, unable to see her surroundings. As her vision adjusted, she began to make out the forms of different sized wooden crates and a figure pacing around behind some of them.

"George?!" she called out, making the silhouette jump.

"Wha… Emiline?" He said, stumbling around and then blinding the ghost by turning on an electric torch.

"Oh, sorry," He said, moving the beam from out of her eyes "what are you doing here?" he asked shiftily.

"I know what you're planning; you can't do it, George."

"Don't be ridiculous. Look, I'm going to transform any minute and, well, it's something that's better if I do it in private. I'm sure Nina will be making her way down to isolation any time now, ready for her… thing. It's not something we share, with anybody. So you'd better…" his sentence was cut short by the first part of the cripplingly painful transformation.

"George!" In spite of her better judgement, Emiline rushed to him. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's bloody wrong? All my bones and muscles are resizing, that's what's _wr-Arrg._" His whole body shuddered and convulsed with the pain.

"George, I know there's not much time, but _please_, you can't kill him."

"I have to."

"No!" Emiline fell to her knees "Please, oh god, no! Don't do this George, don't; you can't, you won't, you…" she lost her power of speech, simply wailing. George's own voice joined her cries, another spasm of pain taking hold of him, but even that could not block out the ghost's own personal agony. George's eyes flickered to lupine yellow, the pupils changing shape. He looked down at her whilst she gripped at his trousers, pleading with him all the while. He quickly removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt, but left his jeans on, even now self-conscious of standing unclothed with anyone else there.

He visibly sagged, and dropped down to his knees, next to Emiline. His spine rippled, making sickening cracking noises as it reshaped.

"You're right," he said "I can't do it."

"Oh, George. I knew you wouldn't." she flung her hands to the side of his head and quickly kissed his forehead as he shook with pain.

"Yes you can," It was another voice, coming from behind Emiline. She spun on her knees, though George seemed oblivious, his transformation taking over. "And you will."

"Vial." George whispered. The man laughed.

"You didn't think I'd just trust you to do this all by yourself? You need supervision, boy. I've been following you since you left hospital. Look at it this way; whatever you do, the vampire dies, but if you make _me_ do it for you… well let's just say that I don't take kindly to those who force me do things I'd rather not." The man, too, began to transform, and his smug laughter was cut short by howls of pain. Emiline looked around, desperate, as the heavy iron door of the warehouse began to creak open.

~X~

"Nina!" cried Annie. The semi-werewolf, semi-woman looked up, and spoke through elongated teeth.

"Annie? What the hell?" Nina began to shake with pain "Whatever you're doing here, you'd better leave quickly." Annie cast a glance around the isolation cell, remembering how she'd followed George there, only to watch through the tiny window, as he dismembered Herrick.

"Where are they?" Annie asked urgently.

"Who?"

"All of them!"

"Not you too? Look, they're all at this warehouse," Nina said, but was met by a blank look "Garafell's? It used to belong to Garafell's hardware store, but the chain collapsed a few years ago." Annie shook her head.

"I don't remember it." Annie said

"God, I would have brought the map from the house if I'd known; the place is marked on in pencil."

"Right." Said Annie, popping into thin air, leaving Nina writhing in agony.

~X~

"What the fuck?!" It was Mitchell. Emiline started towards him, running from the rapidly transforming George and Vial. She smacked into him and pushed against him her feet moving, but slipping on the concrete floor.

"Mitchell, you've got to leave, quickly!" she said, still pushing against him, her arms outstretched.

"What the fuck?!" Mitchell repeated.

"_Please_; they're going to kill you."

"What, no slow down. What do you mean? Who's 'they'?" Mitchell said, looking around bemusedly. His vision came to George. "Oh shit, he's transforming."

"It's not just him. Mitchell you have to run, now, quickly." She said, throwing her weight against him again.

"Em… wait, who the fuck is that? Is that Nina?"

"No, it's, well, I don't know who…" Emiline's sentence was cut short by a growl, as the wolf just recognisable as George came leaping towards them. "Mitchell!" she cried, but was thrown clear of him by George's head. He advanced slowly upon Mitchell.

"Fuck, the door!" he said, pushing it closed, but it was too late; George was already pelting at him, head long. He broke through. "George!" Mitchell was left unharmed, but his friend had escaped, and there was no end to the havoc he might wreak in his animal form. Mitchell stared after him, unsure of what to do.

"Close the door, bloodsucker; he'll be alright by himself for a while." Vial said, chuckling.

"Who are you?" asked Mitchell, closing the door reluctantly. Vial laughed.

"You think I'm going to unveil my master plan to you now do you? A little cliché don't you think? As to my name; I am Mayor Vial."

"Mayor?"

"Yes, yes, but that's not the point, is it bloodsucker?"

"Mitchell, Mitchell; you see now, you've got to leave," Emiline cried "he's going to kill you."

"Leave now, girl, and… wait, you're a ghost!" Vial laughed nastily "Wouldn't want a silly little girl like you to see all this messy business. Go on home now, that's right."

Vial began to walk towards Mitchell, but was stopped short; the last stages of the transformation took hold, revealing a wolf far larger than George, with silver fur.

"Let's go!" Mitchell shouted, but too late; Vial rushed him, throwing him clean of his feet.

"Mitchell!" Emiline began running to him, skipping various patches of space and time. She was at his side.

"I'm okay." Mitchell said, pushing himself up. They stood as if waiting for Vial to attack, but he did not; he merely stood, grimacing at them. "He wants to do this properly."

"What?" Emiline asked, but Vial was nodding back at Mitchell as if he understood every word. Mitchell turned, his eyes going pitch black, his fangs unveiling themselves. "Mitchell, no!"

He launched himself at Vial, not with the animal agility of a werewolf, but with a strange grace. Vial batted him away with ease, Mitchell flying head first into a pile of crates. He righted himself, staggering a little, and went for the kill again. This time, Vial let him take a hold round his neck before shaking him off and sending him hurtling into the air. Mitchell landed on the floor with a crunch and lay unmoving for a couple of seconds.

"Oh no," Emiline whispered to herself, but once again Mitchell got back up "there must be some other way." He flung himself at the wolf, this time getting the mark and digging his teeth into the neck. Vial roared and smashed his side against the wall of the warehouse, crushing Mitchell in-between. This time, he did not get up from the ground, though he tried. He pushed himself up on his hands, but his elbows buckled and he fell back down, bleeding profusely. Vial raised his head and howled. He dashed around the warehouse with sadistic glee, returning panting. He stared at Mitchell.

"Alright then; stop playing with your food and finish the job!" Mitchell spluttered at Vial, who seemed to make a decision. His eyes went dead as he began to advance slowly upon the vampire.


	27. Chapter 27

_Chapter 27_

Annie was frantic; she'd been directed to some old warehouse by a half-transformed werewolf, had had to search for ages until she'd found the place, and then finally she'd stumbled upon a familiar face – George. The one problem with this was that he wasn't George, he was a werewolf. She'd found him in a back alley, chewing on the carcass of some dead animal. He'd not noticed Annie at first, to engrossed was he in the consumption of his kill, but as she'd approached – unsure of the sense in doing so – he'd heard her and looked up. Staring straight into a werewolf's eyes was like nothing she'd ever experienced before.

~X~

They were remarkably dead for their colour, being that shade of yellow called 'Lupine'.

"You won't touch him." Emiline repeated to the wolf, but her resolve was weakening. She took another step back, stumbling on an uneven part of ground.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mitchell croaked from behind her, spitting blood that was – for once – his own. Emiline bit her lip, but she couldn't just let this wolf devour her vampire whole. She was torn in two: Mitchell was so much a part of her now, more than ever; on the other hand, he was just as much of a mindless killer as this Vial and… but she couldn't think of that.

Vial snarled, baring his teeth. He flicked his head, gesturing Emiline out of the way. It was as if he was saying "Go on, just get out of the way sharpish, and I might think about leaving you alone." But Emiline could not abandon her friend. She shook her head at the wolf, starring him down. Vial coughed and narrowed his eyes.

~X~

Nina's pain was immense. It was her first transformation since the loss of the baby, but it was not the physical torture that was hurting her this time. Even now completely in wolf form, some small part of her mind still thought of George. She had no idea what was going on, either for him or Mitchell, but somehow the others had caught wind of it. There was no telling what might be happening to him.

~X~

"George," stuttered Annie "it's me... it is Annie. You recognise me don't you?" The wolf made a leap at Annie, suddenly disinterested in his dead animal, but the ghost disappeared out of the way just in time.

"Obviously not." She muttered. The noise of a group of drunken lads approaching made both the ghost and the werewolf start. If George were to kill a human – let alone several- he would never forgive himself, and it could well lead to his own suicide. Annie made her decision and grabbed the raw meat from the ground.

"George, look at the meat. Come on George; eat the nice dead… whatever animal it was." He took the bait and began to chase her, with Annie teleporting quickly from one corner of a street to the next. She didn't think, but trusted her instinct and could only hope that they wouldn't meet anybody in this catacomb of back alleys.

~X~

Vial flung the girl out of the way with his forepaw, as he had done with Mitchell, and started on the vampire again. The ghost did not crash against the wall however, stopping herself mid flight. She reappeared before Vial, who repeated the action only to be stopped once more by the pesky ghost. He picked her up in his mouth, issuing what should have been a crushing maul to the ghost, but she simply melted in his grasp. Mitchell couldn't prevent a small chuckle escaping him, though it made pain shoot down his sides; he'd obviously broken some ribs. It became clear to Mitchell that while Emiline was powerless to defeat the werewolf, she could give him the run-around, stealing Mitchell some time. In fact, if she were able to keep it up long enough – all night in fact – she could wear him out until he transformed back into a human. It was genius – spontaneous, irrational genius, but genius none the less. Sometimes the maddest solution was the simplest.

Vial played the game for a while, forgetting Mitchell, but he soon tired of its silliness, realising he could never win. He returned instead to the vampire. Emiline blocked his way, but he forced himself forward, not throwing the ghost out of the way, but simply pushing against her. She gave easily, pushing her hands against the wolf's head and digging her heels into the ground, but she was simply bowled backwards. Emiline and Mitchell both realised that their luck had run out, and Vial knew it too. The ghost – wild with panic – drummed her fists against the wolf's thick skull and tore at his fur, but to no avail. The werewolf just ignored Emiline as she had been ignored for so many years, and it made her feel invisible. As Vial reached the vampire, the ghost had become partially translucent, and he could stare straight through her to Mitchell without throwing her out of the way.

"This is it then?" Mitchell said. Vial, seeming to understand, nodded. He gave the ghost one more push and then – to Mitchell's surprise and horror – took her in his vast jaws and bit down. Emiline screamed as her body was crushed. She'd got careless and let him bite her. She'd not been quick enough. Vial tossed the body out of the way with ease and faced the floor-ridden vampire.

~X~

Annie didn't think she could take any more. She was lost and cold and worse, she was being chased by a crazed, oversized wolf. She tore of another small piece of meat and threw it to George who snapped it up greedily. The carcass was getting gradually smaller, and Annie wasn't sure it would last the night. George opened his mouth to howl, but as the unholy noise began to escape his lips, it was caught in this throat. He choked, but not on the meat. His whole body convulsed and his eyes rolled. The first rays of weak sunlight were peeking through the thick cloud covering and night was over.

~X~

"No!" That was just the last straw for Mitchell. He'd faced death on countless times, but he couldn't stand his friends being in jeopardy, especially on his part. He struggled up, ready again to fight this werewolf, even thought it would kill him. Perhaps it would give Emiline the time to recover a little and get away, and that's all he wanted.

"Come on then… come on!" he spat, swaying with dizziness.

Vial stood on his hind legs and howled. '_God,_' thought Mitchell '_he'll start drumming his chest and making monkey noises any second now._' A tiny shaft of sunlight came through a crack at the top of the warehouse door and touched the tip of Vial's ears. He spluttered as that part of the wolf's body smouldered and shrivelled away. More light began to come through, melting the wolf away to the human inside. Mitchell watched, amazed; he had seen George transform into a werewolf, but never back into a human. It resembled so much the classic view of vampires burning away in the day that Mitchell could only imagine that some human had seen the transformation by accident and gone and written about it, thinking it was a vampire.

Mitchell left the smoking werewolf to himself and staggered around, searching for Emiline. He found her in amongst some smashed-up wooden crates. He knelt down beside the ghost. She blinked at him, her pupils dilated, whether in fear or pain Mitchell could not tell.

"Mitchell, you've got to kill him."

"It's okay; he's almost human again now. We can have him arrested for mugging or something."

"And then when he transforms in a police cell? No, you've got to kill him now, whilst he's down. He'll just keep coming back for you otherwise; you'll never be rid of him." Emiline murmured. There was a short pause and then:

"Okay, you're right; I'll kill him now." But as Mitchell tried to stand, his knees gave way and he fell back to the ground.

"I can't move."

"Then drink, Mitchell."

"What?"

"Drink… drink from me."

"No; you're too weakened. It'll kill you."

"I'm a ghost for god's sake. I'm not going to die, but you might." There was a groaning and a rustle from where Vial lay.

"He's waking up. He may be human again, but I think he could still overpower you as you are. Just give in!" Vial moved again, and Mitchell made a decision. He buried his face in the welling blood, and drank.

~X~

Annie stared at George's naked body, blinking in disbelief. The way he'd fallen meant that most of his… more private areas were covered, thank god. But as the day rolled on and more people awoke, George would be found lying starkers on a pavement. Perhaps that wouldn't be so bad, but George may very well end up in court for being drunk and disorderly or indecent in public, or something like that. She didn't think that she could drag him all the way back to the house alone.

~X~

They sat there in the slits of sunlight, collecting themselves. It had not been difficult for Mitchell to finish Vial off after he'd fed. He'd waited for the man to come round, still holding to the old value that it was dishonourable to kill a man whilst he was down. Besides, there might be some worth in questioning him a bit.

"Get up, you bastard;" Mitchell had spat, rolling Vial over with the tip of his boot "I said get up!"

"Can't." Vial had muttered back

"Look at me, then. Come on, you bugger!" He'd pushed the man with his boot again, not minding his nakedness. Vial had opened his eyes groggily.

"What?"

"It's going to work like this: I'm going to ask you a question, and you're going to answer willingly or get a boot in your face and if I think your answers are satisfactory, I might let you go."

"Fuck off. I had you, bloodsucker, just be glad the sun came up."

"Firstly: why did you want to kill me?"

"You're a vampire," Vial had said, shrugging "and you were corrupting one of us."

"Right. Are there any more of you?"

"Hundreds and hundreds and I'm their mayor. Even if you kill me, you won't get away; you'll just make the rest even angrier. You might be surprised as to how loyal we can be… but then you've seen dogs with their owners." Vial had chuckled. It had not been what Mitchell had wanted to hear, and it made him freeze in fear for a second. But there had been something about the way he'd said it, some sort of bravado, which had seemed to Mitchell a lot like bluff.

"Where do you live?" No reply "I want this to be as painless as possible for both our sakes, but god knows I'd have no qualms about knocking a few of those teeth out." Still nothing "Look, I've got a pretty good idea that George has already been wherever it is you spend your miserable little days, and he's got a fantastically good memory for directions." That had been a bluff on Mitchell's part, but it had worked:

"There's a card in my jacket pocket over there."

"Right, I think that's about it. Goodbye then." Mitchell had picked up Vial with ease and snapped his neck. True, he could have drained him, but werewolf blood tasted terrible. The man had had almost no time to realise what was happening, and certainly none to make any noise.

Mitchell had carried Emiline out from among the crates and set her down on the floor whilst he had gone to get Vial's jacket to look for said card.

"Here it is!" he'd said, returning, waving the card above his head. Emiline had been propped against a box, pointedly staring at the ceiling.

"What? Oh, that." Mitchell had said, throwing the jacket over Vial's underside, laughing silently to himself.

So now they were just sitting there on the floor, looking at the dead man.

"Look, I know this area," Mitchell said to Emiline, pointing to the card "but I don't think it would be wise for me to go there alone. I don't want to ask you this, but I'm not sure I can trust George anymore and I've no idea where Nina or Annie is."

"I understand, Mitchell… but I don't think you should doubt George's loyalty so much; you heard what Vial said about dogs. I think it was just a case of to whom he should be most loyal. I'll come with you."


	28. Chapter 28 Further Explanation

_Chapter 28 – Further Explanation_

Annie had dragged George into a little side street, and was now panicking.

"Oh, for god's sake." She said, giving him a sharp kick in the side.

"Wha…? What was that for?" George groaned, waking up.

"Get up, you idiot. How are we going to get you back to the house without anybody seeing you like that?"

"Like what?" asked George, getting to his feet "Oh bloody hell! Annie, look away!" he yelled, attempting to cover himself with his hands.

"I wasn't looking to begin with! Anyway, that's not the point; we've got to get you some clothes." Annie said, gesturing around the dark alley.

"What're you looking at me for? You should be able to manage that." George retorted, but was met with a very blank look "You are a ghost after all… you can walk through walls."

"Oh right, yeah. Hang on here a minute while I try and find you something from one of these houses."

"Well it's not like I'll be going anywhere!" George yelled back, but to thin air.

He waited, shivering. '_C'mon Annie,_' he thought '_how hard can it be to find a guy some clothes?_'

"By the way," it was Annie again "what size are you?"

"What?!"

"Your size? I was just trying to work out which shirt you'd prefer and then I remembered I didn't know your size."

~X~

"You understand why I'm asking you?" Mitchell continued

"Of course I do." Emiline replied, but the vampire still felt the need to clarify:

"It's just that I really need a ghost: you can go through walls and locked doors; you're not easily harmed; and – perhaps most importantly – you can make a quick getaway."

"Mitchell, I said I understood. Ne t'inquiète pas, mon petit tueur." Mitchell smiled at the ghost's use of French, vaguely remembering her explain that she'd had the ambition of studying languages. His own grasp French was rudimentary, but he guessed that the sentence meant something like 'Don't worry'. The 'tueur' was lost on him though.

~X~

"Annie, for goodness' sake! I really don't care as long as it vaguely fits and doesn't stand out."

"Alright, suit yourself." She replied, disappearing once more into the neighbouring house.

The ghost reappeared a minute later, holding some clothes.

"I just guessed, alright? I only hope the shoes fit. Anyway, what were you doing out here on the night of your transformation?"

"It's a long story," he said, beginning to heave on the clothes "I'll tell you once we get moving."

Before long George was dressed in a too-tight polo shirt, some too-long tracksuit bottoms, two holey socks and a pair of trainers that fit perfectly. He decided not to ask Annie to go back for underpants.

"Right, back to the house," he said "so where are we anyway?"

~X~

"Are you sure you're alright?" Mitchell asked for the hundredth time, as Emiline stumbled again. He wasn't a complete fool; he knew that feeding off the ghost wouldn't kill her, but it certainly weakened her, if not in the same way as a living being. He'd fed off her because he'd had to, but he was beginning to regret draining her quite as much as he had done.

"Yes, yes; I'll be fine in a minute," She muttered, but tripped again even as she said it "it's just these uneven paving stones."

"Whatever."

They'd already covered a surprising amount of ground, perhaps because of Mitchell's urgent pace. Never had Emiline complained though, never once had she asked him to slow down. Then again, she wasn't exactly _walking_ the whole way.

Mitchell was pleased with how he'd disposed of Vial's body. Well, Emiline had done the disposing really, but it had been his idea: she'd redressed him – with eyes closed of course – to prevent Mitchell getting any more fingerprints on the clothes than necessary. Then they'd carried him to the top of a pile of crates and… pushed him off. The fall would explain his broken neck. The crime scene investigation team could work out a reason and motive for it by themselves.

Mitchell halted abruptly.

"What's wrong?"

"This is it; the address on the card. It's this street."

~X~

Nina ignored her colleagues' baffled exclamations as she dashed through the hospital corridors. She'd dressed as soon as she'd awoken and then released herself from the isolation cell. Her first instinct was to return to the pink house, but scratched the idea the minute it entered her head, knowing that George would not be there. The only thing to do was to return to her home and find the blessed map with the warehouse marked on it. Somehow, Nina thought that it was going to be a very long day.

~X~

George stopped short, his heels automatically digging themselves into the ground.

"What are we doing here?"

"What do you mean?" asked Annie "What do you mean by 'here'? This street looks like every other we've just passed."

"To you maybe, but I recognise it. Look, I know that plant pot in that person's garden; it's terracotta… and it's got a green plant in it!"

"I'm sure we've seen hundreds of plant pots identical to that one in the last ten minutes." Annie sighed "Oh George, face it; we're completely lost."

"That's not the point; I _know_ I've been here. Oh no… no, please don't say you've brought me back to Vial's house."

~X~

It was there, thank god, the map was there. The problem was that the location in question was far enough away that she'd need to take a bus.

"Damn!" Nina swore. It would take her a bloody long time to get there, by which point George would probably have gone. Well, it was worth a try.

~X~

"Look," Mitchell said, pointing "it seems we've come to the right place." Emiline followed his line of vision and alighted on the forms of George and Annie at the other end of the street.

"It doesn't look like they've seen us." Emiline replied.

"More the better; quick, hide!"

~X~

"No, no, no!" George repeated, pacing round in circles "We've got to get out of here, Annie… quickly!"

"What _are_ you on about?"

"Wait, what's that?" George squeaked, shielding his eyes from the bright early-morning sun and pointing. "Oh god Annie, it must be him!" George had already explained the fiasco with Vial, albeit a rather brief version of the events, so Annie had at least some idea of what George meant.

A shape advanced towards them, shoulders rounded and jaw set straight. Whoever it was clearly meant business.

"Run!" George shouted, stumbling to a sprint, dashing back round the corner of the street.

"Wait, George!" Annie shouted after the werewolf "I don't think it's Vial… it's Mitchell." She finished in a forlorn whisper.

~X~

The vampire snarled as the werewolf disappeared round the corner. '_Coward,_' he thought '_it's time to face the music, you bastard._' He was going to kill that good-for-nothing, back-stabbing snake in the grass. '_I've nursed a viper, that's what. Well, bring up crows and they'll peck your eyes out._' Yes, he was in the killing mood now; he'd killed once already today and he'd bloody well do it again… but not before he'd tortured the bugger. He squared as he approached the unmistakeable figure of Annie. He resisted the temptation to lash out at her, aware that she'd had no part in last night's events. It was unfair to catch her in the crossfire. He ignored her and pushed past.

"Come here and take what's coming to you, doggie!" Mitchell yelled after the running werewolf. Perhaps it was a mistake, or perhaps it saved both of them, because on that annunciation of 'doggie' made George stop in his tracks. He turned for two reasons: no werewolf would ever insult another of its own kind like that – only vampires used that term – so it could not possibly be Vial; the speaker must have known his true identity to say that so was obviously someone close to him. His brain ticked and whizzed and arrived at the answer a second before his eyes confirmed what he already knew – the speaker was Mitchell. His immediate instinct was to relax and run to the only friend he had with any power to protect him, but he soon stopped short as he remembered what Mitchell had just shouted to him. '_Doggie?_' he asked himself '_Oh surely not._' George swallowed, frightened again and all of a sudden he understood: he'd led his friend to his death.

Mitchell strode towards George, his intentions clear and no remorse on his face.

~X~

Nina resisted the temptation to punch the impertinent, purvey bush driver in the mouth – clearly the werewolf aggressiveness hormones still hadn't worn off yet – and set off for the place marked on the map. She regretted coming here, unsure of what she might find. In fact, she wasn't that unsure; someone would have to have died last night, it was just a question of whom.

She soon found herself running, and realised it was catching the attention of some of the few passersby, most of them male. '_Oh for god's sake!_' Was it just around her transformation that guys looked at her like that or did she just not notice the other twenty-two days of the month? She slowed a little, making her gait that of a jogger rather than a frantic woman praying for the life of her would-be husband.

Whatever Nina had been expecting – and she'd seen some pretty horrific sights in her time – it had not been what was waiting in the warehouse to greet her. She didn't scream, not being particularly inclined to do so, but she did retch. She bent over and clutched her stomach as she shuddered and shook. Horror was one thing, but it was all completely different when it was work. Besides, all the patients she got were still living, and her only thought was to get them out of suffering, one way or another. This was completely different. All she could see of the man's body was his back, but… she could see his face as well. His neck had obviously been broken, and was bent in the most unnatural way, with one side almost parallel to the other. The back of his head seemed fused to the back of his shoulder. Everything was twisted and warped so 'till it was all upside-down and the wrong way round. Nina heaved again.

After a couple of minute's recovery she straightened and shook her head to clear it. She recognised the man as Vial, but the mutilation still seemed wrong. She took her mobile from her jacket pocket and dialled 999.

"Um… the police, I think… but maybe an ambulance too. I've found a dead body." She stammered into the 'phone. She knew there'd be difficult questions to answer, and she knew she might be endangering the secrecy of not only herself, but the whole supernatural world, but she had to make that call. If she didn't, the body might lie there for days, weeks even, before anybody found it. Whatever sort of man Vial had been, it wasn't fair on anybody to let him rot quietly in complete anonymity.

~X~

"Oh for god's sake; leave him alone!" Emiline shouted, batting at Mitchell's arm. He'd got George pinned to a wall, fangs out, eyes black. George coughed, chocking under the vampire's hold. Annie stood gawping, uncomprehending.

"He was going to kill Nina!" George spluttered, trying to free his neck from the constricting hands.

"What?"

"Let me down and I'll explain." He chocked. Mitchell lowered him slowly to the floor and let go of his neck, but only after a penetrating glance from Emiline.

"You wanted to kill me." Mitchell repeated mechanically.

"Yes, I was _going_ to kill you; no, I didn't _want_ to kill you." Mitchell squinted, not quite catching the drift "He was threatening me… and Nina."

"You mean that you were in cahoots with that werewolf?"

"No! For god's sake; I was trying to protect Nina from him," George said, sighing "there are hundreds of them, Mitchell, and they want rid of you."

"Go on…" Mitchell probed, intrigued though not convinced by George's explanation.

"He might turn up any minute now! If I'm going to explain, we should get as far away as possible first."

"Ha! You honestly think I left and let the little fucker live? Mitchell said, taking a cigarette packet and lighter from his pocket and lighting one. "I've killed him you idiot." He continued, drawing a deep breath through the cigarette.

"You _killed him_?" George said, incredulous.

"Why? You sad about it?" Mitchell chuckled, sure he'd backed the wolf into a corner.

"Will you please just listen to me?!"

~X~

Nina soon heard the screech of the police car and ambulance sirens. The crowds began to gather as the police cordoned-off the area and the ambulance team moved in to collect the body. There was no question as to whether he could be revived. One of the medics seemed intent on wrapping Nina in a space blanket who batted it away.

"I'm not cold." She muttered

"You're in shock." Nina eventually let the irritating women wrap her up before surreptitiously removing the blanket and hanging it over her arm. She made a mental note to burn the map once she got home – owing to the markings made round the area of the warehouse and the implications that could have – and thanked her lucky stars that she'd left it at home at the bottom of a drawer; she needed to make her visit to the place as spontaneous as possible.

~X~

"Do you understand? I didn't think I had a choice… I _didn't_ have a choice, and to be honest I still don't. They'll get you one way or another." George finished.

"Pfft!" was Mitchell's only reply, which could really have meant anything.

"What do you mean 'Pfft'?" asked George

"I think," began Mitchell "that you may have been had… that is I think Vial was lying about the existence of a whole army of werewolves. Think about it…"

"I have," George replied "all too much."

"No, _really_ think about it George – if there'd been that many other werewolves hanging around you would have known it. Well you would! You would have sensed it." He said, tapping his nose.

"Maybe."

"But really, Mitchell how can you be sure?" asked Annie

"That is why we are here:" Emiline answered "to make sure that Vial was lying and there is no threat to you."

"To us." Corrected Mitchell.

"Yes… us." George and Annie agreed in unison.

The four made their way back onto the street and stopped at the corner. George gritted his teeth and led the way forwards.

~X~

"What was your reason for being in the warehouse this morning?"

"I was jogging along the path and I noticed that the door was ajar." It was the truth – she had been running and the door hadn't been completely shut – and there were witnesses to back her up on the jogging part.

"Right," said the police officer, writing scribbling in her notebook "do you usually jog around this area?" The policewoman was pretty, fairly young, with faded strawberry-blonde hair. '_Perhaps the youth will be to my advantage._' Nina thought '_she looks pretty competent, but I'll bet this is the biggest case she's been on and she's quaking in her boots. Oh, what am I thinking? It'd never work out like that._'

"No, it's a bit far from my home really. Actually, I very rarely jog." Nina said, shrugging. It wasn't a bit like the movies. There was no darkened cell, no hard chair, no good-cop-bad-cop routine and no bright light in her face. She was just in a room in the police station being questioned by a policewoman. This was how it should be, really. The only thing that was making her nervous was the fact that she was lying.

"Why did you decide to jog there?" Nina was ready for this question.

"I have a friend who lives near here who goes running a lot. She said it was a nice area for that sort of thing." It was the truth in that she had a rather exercise-obsessed friend who had a flat in that vague area, but she'd certainly never recommended it for early-morning excursions. She'd just have to rely on the power of forgetfulness if further witnesses were called.

"Sure… did you have any plans to meet up with her?"

"No, nobody knew I was going there… except my boyfriend. Yes, I might have mentioned it to him the other day." Of course she hadn't, but George would go along with it, no question.

"Do you know the man?"

"Yes," Nina replied, then realised her obvious mistake "yes of course I know the man. Otherwise why would he be my boyfriend?" Nina covered. She didn't think that the policewoman was buying it, but of course she couldn't tell that for sure.

"I'm sorry, that was bad phrasing. I meant the dead man… did you know the dead man?"

"Oh… no."

"Well, all this seems quite satisfactory," she said, making Nina heave an inwards sigh of relief "but there is one thing left unexplained. We 'phoned the hospital where you work, and they said people had seen you leaving in a hurry early this morning. Why was that? You hadn't just come off a night shift."

"Oh, well, um…" Nina tailed off. '_Shit!_' She'd forgotten about that, and there was no logical way to explain it. To her embarrassment, Nina's bottom lip began to quiver and a lump came to her throat. And she'd been doing so well up until now.

~X~

"I don't bloody believe it!" Annie lamented "Only you – Mitchell – could possible plan a break-in and not actually have a plan. You could have at least looked for a door key on him. He had an address card after all"

"Right, shut up Annie."

"Okay… one, two, three!" George said and both he and Mitchell threw themselves against the door… to no avail.

"Oh for goodness sake," Emiline muttered "let me do it." She disappeared through the door and unlocked it from inside.

"Well go on then," Annie prompted from behind "before anyone sees us hanging around a dead man's front door."

"They won't know he's dead." Retorted George

"They will soon enough."

"Good point."

They had been extremely lucky – nobody had come along the street, and there had been no sign of twitching curtains. Once inside, the four took a good look around the small corridor.

"Doesn't look all that intimidating to me," Mitchell said "is this it?"

"Shh!" George hissed, waving his hands around "if there is anybody here, they'll hear you. The rest is through that door."

"Okay, okay," Mitchell whispered defensively "let's go then."

"No, no, no! For goodness' sake, we can't just barge in there."

"I'll go." Emiline said.

"What? No."

"It's why you brought me – you said so yourself. Look, if there's a whole werewolf colony behind that door – and I doubt there is – then they won't smell me, and if there's actually a human, they won't see me." Mitchell looked at Emiline. She was right of course, but…

"Go on then." He said, resisting the urge to pull her back and clasp her.

~X~

Nina swallowed hard. The policewoman said nothing but held her pen above the notebook, poised to begin scribbling furiously. Nina took a gamble and used her own desperation as an advantage.

"I went into work, but… I couldn't stay. I just had to leave. Can you understand that?"

"Why did you feel that you couldn't stay?"

"I… oh I thought that working would help take my mind off it, but I got to the hospital, and I just couldn't face work.

"Take your mind off what?"

"I, I… didn't they tell you? No I suppose not. I was recently mugged and beaten up and I miscarried my child as a result. I wasn't even meant to be back at work yet, but… well I think you understand."

"Yes, of course." The policewoman said taking some notes, though it was obvious she didn't understand at all. "Then why were you jogging? You did say it wasn't a regular habit of yours."

"No. I wanted to clear my head a bit. I went back to my house and tried to read, but that didn't work, so I decided I'd take my friend's advice and go running in this area. It didn't really work out as planned, as you can see." Nina replied, giving a forlorn, weary smile.

"No. Well, I think that should be about all for now. You can go home. Be ready to answer a call from us though. Stay at home for the next couple of days… I think it would do you good anyway."

"Yes, thank you, I…" but she was already speaking to the police officer's back.

~X~

They waited in silence for no more than a couple of seconds before she reappeared, smiling to herself.

"There's no one there," she said, shaking her head "it's just a small empty room. I've checked all the cupboards as well… surely that's not all there is?"

"Perhaps… upstairs?" George said. Emiline shrugged and disappeared. The news she brought back was more or less the same:

"There's a kitchen and a couple of bedrooms but nothing else."

"There was nobody there?"

"Nobody… we, should go in." She said, nodding at the door at the end of the corridor.

Again, it was just the same dull, dark room that George remembered. Nothing had changed except that the sofa had been made up into a makeshift bed and a pile of papers had been dropped on the floor, scattering themselves. George bit down on a whimper – there was nothing that could possibly hurt him in this room, but he could not forget the horrors that had happened there. The bitter taste came to his mouth and his stomach clenched in fear.

"This is it?" Mitchell laughed "This is the sum total of Vial's hideout? Where's the great legion of lycanthropes then?" He turned and saw George's expression. His face was pale grey and he was grinding his teeth. He licked his lips.

"Does it matter what it looks like? This is it, this is where he took us to… to hit us and beat us and threaten us." George slumped down on the floor.

"Oh George," Annie sat down beside him "he's dead now, don't you see?" She put her arm around George, while Mitchell and Emiline – both old-fashioned enough to be embarrassed by male tears – turned away. Mitchell gestured silently to the papers. The ghost knew what he meant and began to sift for anything that might be of any use to them. She shook her head at the vampire.

"Nothing!" she mouthed. She showed him a paper – it was full of nonsense, ramblings. It was, perhaps what might have passed for a play, had the words not been such idiocy. It looked as though it had been written on an old fashioned typewriter.

"Do you think he wrote it?" Mitchell muttered. She turned it over in her hands and pointed.

"It looks like he signed his name in pencil on the back, so I suppose he did."

It might have been an amusing read, had not the surreal nature been interspersed with scenes so horrific and twisted that Emiline dropped the paper and refused to read on. It was all madness, and so…

"Explicit." Mitchell said to himself. He'd known things like that, he'd seen things similar, but never had he had the audacity to write them down. He took the girl in his arms, ignoring her quiet protests, and promised himself he'd never do anything like that again.

~X~

As expected, George was still not at home. Nina collapsed on the sofa and turned the tele on, though she had no interest whatsoever in the film playing – the urge to watch vampire versus werewolf movies had ceased after her first transformation – and just wanted it on for some background noise. All that could be done was to wait.

The taxi pulled away from the outside of the house and Nina got up, suddenly remembering the map. She took it to the kitchen and placed it in the sink before striking a match and torching it. It didn't take long for the irritating smoke alarm to start shouting, but if anybody asked, she could just say she'd burned some toast. She turned on the tap, dousing the flames, and then washed the ash and the remaining pieces down the plughole. The sink now looked a little scorched perhaps, but it was nothing that would raise any questions, at least not from strangers to the place. Nina picked up a tea towel and fanned the squealing alarm.

When she returned to her living room, the film had finished and the news was on. She was about to turn the tele off when the story made her stop. She turned the sound up.

"A body was found today in an abandoned warehouse in Bristol by a local nurse who wishes to remain anonymous." '_What?_' it couldn't possibly have already made the national news. They had excluded her name though, which is what she'd requested.

"The body is that of a man thought to be of about fifty-five years of age, though his age has not yet been confirmed. The police are asking anyone who has any knowledge of this man to come forwards and give information. They have constructed a sketch of how he might have looked in life." The screen flashed with a picture so true to Vial in life that Nina jumped. Then a spokesperson for the police came up:

"We are currently unable to release any information about this death until we have further information about the man in question." The screen flashed back up to the news reporter in the studio.

"Police have suggested that there is no evidence for foul play, though they have not said anything for certain on the matter… New experiments have been conducted which are said to prove, without any doubt, that global warming is a result of human activity…"

Nina turned the tele off. So they were calling for information? She shook her head, unable to gage what that meant for her. She flopped down and picked up her 'phone. She called the house, but – as was expected – there was no answer. She could only hope that George was alright.

~X~

"I don't think we should stay any longer." Annie said "What's there to see?"

"Nothing," Mitchell sighed "that's just the problem; there're absolutely no indicators as to whether Vial was lying or not. I can't smell any other werewolves around here, except for the faint scent of George and Nina… but there is a human smell."

"What?"

"George would get it better than me."

"There's definitely something," George said, nodding "but I can't quite get it." It was obvious that George was having a tough time just holding himself together, let alone picking out the fine details of a hint of human.

"Ah, it's not worth worrying yourself about." Mitchell murmured, patting George on the shoulder, only a little self-consciously. "This room stinks of cigars anyway."

"It just stinks if you ask me." Annie muttered.

"Let's go then. I'll make sure that the street's empty first." Emiline said, dissolving. "It's fine – quick, go!"

The other three stumbled out the house, George first, Mitchell last. They filed out and shut the door. It was late afternoon, and the shadows were long, cast by a warm golden sunlight. It was such a different sight to how it had been just a few days before. Perhaps the werewolf had made his peace with the place.

"Now," began George "how are we going to get home?"

~X~

About 120 Miles away from where Vial rested on the mortuary table, a retired psychiatric doctor sat playing with his youngest grandson of three years of age. He was in his mid-sixties and had been retired for just over 8 years. He'd left the profession for two very important reasons: firstly, his first grandchild had been born, and his eldest daughter (doing the single parenting routine) needed the extra help; secondly, he'd failed with a patient. Not only had he failed to help him, he'd began to believe in the man's deluded ideas. It had become clear to him that he could no longer treat patients when he doubted his own ability to distinguish between reality and make-believe. He'd told no one but his wife about the difficulties he'd faced with that patient, from the seeming impossibility to secure to the fears that he'd instilled in the doctor himself. His wife herself – nearly ten years his junior – was a nurse at the hospital where he had worked, and had always shown considerable interest in her husband's cases. He'd told her everything about that infuriating patient, shown her his case notes, pictures of him even… but she was the only one he'd ever talked to about it. He'd since pushed the incident from his mind.

In the next room his wife watched the news whilst doing the ironing. One headline caught her attention:

"A body was found today in an abandoned warehouse in Bristol by a local nurse who wishes to remain anonymous. The body is that of a man thought to be of about fifty-five years of age, though his age has not yet been confirmed. The police are asking anyone who has any knowledge of this man to come forwards and give information. They have constructed a sketch of how he might have looked in life." The picture came up on the screen. The wife calmly put down the iron and called to her husband.

"Come here Peter… quickly."

"What is it?" he asked, heaving himself up and taking his grandson with him. "Dear me, your granny's trying to keep me fit… at my age!" he muttered to his grandson. He came into the room just in time to see the picture before it cut to a police spokesman.

"Oh my god," he said, nearly dropping the toddler "Jan, it's him."

"I know –" she replied, taking the boy from her husband "he's dead and the police are calling for anyone with information to come forwards."

"Where? When?"

"He was found this morning in Bristol. That's a city in the southwest isn't it? You've got to tell them – there's a contact number look."

"How could he come back for me? It's been so long… it's been 8 years since his escape. 8 full years since Hugo Veil escaped from solitary."

~X~

Closer to home, an old lady tottered as she read the poster pasted up at the bus station – it was indisputably a sketch of the man who rented a room in her house. '_Dead?_' she thought '_That's impossible._' She shook her head, and headed off to the police station.

~X~

When Mitchell, George, Annie and of course Emiline entered the house, the 'phone was already wringing. Mitchell sighed and picked it up.

"It's for you." He said, handing the 'phone over to George.

"Hello," said the werewolf, wearily "who is it?" There was a short pause in which screeching could be heard at the other end of the line "Wait, wait, calm down! What's the matter? Oh my god… I'll be over in a minute. Okay, love you, bye."

"What was that all about?" asked Annie from the kitchen where she was busy making tea.

"It's Nina; she went to the warehouse to look for me this morning and she found… Vial's dead body and reported it to the police. Reported it, of all things to do!" George hastily pulled on his coat. "Where are the car keys?"

"Here." Mitchell handed them over "Call us as soon as you've got the whole picture about what's been going on." The vampire still hadn't forgiven the werewolf his deceit, but it was a conversation that could happen later, when they were alone and things had calmed down.

"Sure… but don't any of you hold your breath."

"No need." Emiline said. George scowled at her, not really in the mood for jokes. The ghost sighed and shrugged back at him.

He dashed out of the house, leaving the three together with more tea than they could cope with.

"Damn it!" Annie muttered "How are we going to deal with all this tea now? There's only one person in the house who can actually drink it!"

"Annie, you know I am always up for a hot beverage... a hundred of them even." Mitchell joked. The little grey ghost slapped him on the arm in jest. In spite of all that had just happened, things were starting to feel like they were getting back to how they should be.


	29. Chapter 29

_Chapter 29_

Inspector Adams rubbed her head looking out of the small window in her office. '_Complete madman._' She thought. It was clear that the dead man had not been in his right mind. They'd had information come in from a psychiatric doctor in London who'd said the man had been a patient of his and had believed that he was a werewolf. He'd created an entire fantasy out of it apparently, and had even managed to break out of his cell several times on a full moon, to be found lying naked in a hospital corridor the next morning. Except once – it seemed that he'd slipped the net one month and had never been found. There'd been no sightings, not even false ones, no information… until now. He'd rented a room from an aging lady living in Bristol who'd not had the sense to ask for identification. He'd gone by the name of Charles Kent to her, and Arnold Smith to a couple of the neighbours. His actual name was Hugo Veil and he had no known family. His wife – who'd had him committed after a series of suicide attempts and violent attacks on her – was now dead and he had no children or siblings. There really was no evidence to suggest that he'd been murdered. It had been full moon the night of his death, and the man could quite simply have gone insane. It her mind, it was just a choice between suicide and misadventure now. They'd had a team look through the downstairs room he rented, and they'd found no note or indication that he would take his own life, just hundreds of papers with nonsense typed on them.

"Inspector?" The noise made her jump.

"What have I told you about knocking before entering? Go on then, what is it?" she said turning towards the constable at the door.

"Forensics has reached its verdict…"

"Good… and?" Adams poked some hair pins back into her topknot in nervousness, knowing that a lot could rest on the answer.

"Misadventure, they think… and I'm inclined to agree with them myself."

"Right… there's no evidence to suggest otherwise, Clyde, so I think we go with that… the public never question the forensic team, especially when they don't really care anyway." When she was honest with herself, she knew she just wanted the case all wrapped up and over with, and if nobody was calling for further investigation, then she didn't much care about it.

"Public statement?"

"Yes please Clyde; could one of you arrange that for me?"

The press were all over them, squeezing them for the most gruesome details, doggedly hassling them for more answers. It was a couple of days on from the incident and already there were massive headlines in the papers, on the radio and on the television, not to mention the pleas for information the police had sent out._Man found mutilated. Police refuse to comment.__ Yesterday morning, the body of a middle-aged man was found by a local nurse who wishes to remain anonymous…_ God, they were such lowlifes! The press was the bane of a police officer's life. Adams exhaled through her teeth. She sat down and began to prepare some notes for what to say to the public.

~X~

Mitchell jammed his finger down on the button and the television screen flicked off. The news was everywhere, but the police had made no proper statements. They weren't telling if they thought there was foul play involved. He had no desire to keep watching the same headlines repeated over and over on 'News 24'. Yes, he knew that Vial was dead – he'd killed the man himself for god's sake – but was anyone going to get the blame?

"Nothing new on the radio is there Em?"

"Not a thing, nothing we don't know already." She called back from the kitchen.

"I'll take over, it's my turn." Annie said.

They'd all been taking it in turn to listen to the radio for the past 48 hours, and it was obviously taking its toll. Even George and Nina had helped, each taking an hour's shift with instructions to ring the three in the pink house if anything new came up.

Mitchell got up.

"Right, I'd better be off; I've got to get to work." He'd almost forgotten about life beyond waiting for news. George had gone back to work too, but Nina remained off; the hospital had given her leave for a few more days due to the 'shock' she had when she found Vial. Mitchell fetched his coat, smoothed his hair and left.

Annie took the radio through to the sitting room and kept it on a low level. If it bothered the neighbours, it would just have to keep bothering them until someone with a body got back. She slouched on the sofa.

"How much longer is this going to go on?" She asked Emiline, who had sat herself next to Annie. Relations between the two ghosts had somehow drastically improved, perhaps because Mitchell probably would have died without Emiline's intervention. Annie would be eternally grateful for that – she had few enough friends as it was.

"I suppose that was a rhetorical question." Was the only reply.

"I mean, this is turning into purgatory: Mitchell's tense and only talks when he absolutely has to; George – when he's here – keeps pacing and is paranoid that they'll suspect Nina; and we have to stay by this bloody radio at all hours of the day and night."

"I think it will be alright," Emiline said, to an inquisitive glance from Annie "I don't know why… I just think things will sort themselves out for once."

Annie pulled her feet up onto the sofa. There was no telling what might happen.

~X~

Adams patted her hair, arranged her collar and put on a neutral expression to face the media. She walked onto the platform, carrying her notes. God, they were all there. It seemed that the story had got onto most of the national papers, despite it being a relatively routine incident, all things considered.

She made her statement, ignoring the questions that followed, save for one:

"Inspector Adams, will you be launching an inquiry as to how the man managed to escape from the mental hospital in the first place?"

"Of course, this incident has already been looked into by the London police, but in light of this case, the inquiry may be re-opened. That, however, is up to the area's policing staff. I'm afraid that's all the questions I will answer."

She'd done well, and she knew it. Adams hid her smile as she walked out of the conference room, pleased with herself. It was by no means the first case she'd handled as an inspector, but it was the first of such wide publicity and there was no question that she'd dealt with it 100 percent efficiently. There were no mysteries left, no loose ends to tie up. Once back in her office she smirked to herself and called Clyde back in.

"You couldn't contact that nurse could you? The one who found the body, I mean. Tell her that she's no longer required for the investigation and she can continue as normal. She'll find out what happened soon enough no doubt."

"Of course." Clyde replied, winking at her. They both knew what the signal meant. Adams knew that he'd soon be arranging a room at a hotel for that night.

He left her to her silent gloating once more. She sat down and swivelled in her chair, determined that forty years of age was not too old to enjoy doing that. She'd address her team later and thank them all for their help and the new, strawberry blonde policewoman would receive some flowers on her desk for such effective handling of witnesses. Adams was happy, safe in the knowledge that everything in life could be explained in such a logical, orderly way. As she thought these very things, her husband – dejected and miserable as he was – decided once and for all to dispose of her, Clyde bit and drained a victim in a back alley and two ghosts listened attentively to the radio. She did not realise it was her last week to walk the earth, the last case she'd ever close, or the last evening she'd ever cheat on her husband.

~X~

Everything was suddenly happening at once. The 'phone rang, the radio blared new headlines and the tele showed clips of the police/press liaison. Annie tried desperately to get through to Mitchell and George at the hospital. The news was fantastic. She couldn't remember what order everything had happened in. She thought that answer 'phone message from Nina had come just as the first signs of change had appeared on the box, and then the radio broadcasts had started, but she couldn't tell for sure.

"Em, do you know where Mitchell and George work?" Annie said, clutching the other ghost's hands.

"They work at the hospital don't they?"

"Yes, but do you know how to get there?" The boys needed to know the news. Emiline thought for a moment.

"Yes."

"Go there, and tell them what we know."

~X~

Mitchell plunged the mop into the bucket with excessive force and splashed his scrubs with mucky mop water as a result.

"Fuck." He muttered to himself "Fuck it, fuck it and fuck it!" An elderly patient scowled at him as she tottered past with her Zimmer frame. He was overreacting and he knew it, but every little thing seemed blown out of proportion at the moment. He couldn't relax, not while there was still a possibility of the household becoming entangled in this messy business with Vial (or Hugo Veil as he was apparently called). Mitchell was more or less certain that there was no army of werewolves, but he couldn't ignore the very real threat that Nina could be linked with the death because of implausible explanations or that they'd find his fingerprints on the body and suspect him.

He splashed himself again.

"Oh, fuck." A nurse poked her head out from the nearest ward, glared at him, and went back inside. He shook his head and inched the bucket forwards with his foot. He stood up strait and stretched his back, casting his eyes around.

"Mitchell?"

"Ah," Mitchell yelled, jumping forwards, strait into the bucket "fuck!" The nurse came out of the ward again.

"Will you please be quiet? We have children in this ward for goodness' sake." She stormed back in.

"Em, what the hell are you doing here?" he whispered, climbing out of the bucket, cursing to himself in his head. She'd appeared right in front of him and taken him completely by surprise. He shook his legs and sighed; it would take a change of scrubs and a warm towel to get dry again. He picked up the mop and bucket and started walking to his locker.

"I have news." Mitchell froze. This was it, she was going to tell him that Nina was now a suspect and so was George, and they were fingerprinting the body.

"What sort of news." He started walking again.

"Good news… they've called it death by misadventure." Mitchell sighed with relief, put down the cleaning items and pulled the ghost towards him, swinging her round.

"Yes, hello, nice day." He said, dropping her, as some hospital staff walked by. They nodded at him and hurried on. They probably thought he was a madman, and the fact it looked like he'd wet himself didn't help. He turned back to the ghost and opened his mouth to speak, but she was already gone.


	30. Chapter 30 Lost Appetite

_Chapter 30 – Lost Appetite_

Nobody spoke over dinner that night. It was coming up to a week since Vial's death had been all wrapped up, but things were still strained. George had cooked some fancy Italian pasta dish with a fancier dessert to follow, but no one really tasted it. Interactions between Mitchell and George were kept to a bit of a minimum; it wasn't easy to make small talk with somebody who'd had a stab at killing you.

Nina shook her head as George silently offered her more wine.

"I'm fine thanks George… this is really nice."

"Good." He replied, shrugging. Perhaps things weren't so easy with them either; a miscarriage in any normal circumstance would put strain on a relationship even if it wasn't due to being attacked by a deranged werewolf.

Annie sat looking longingly at the food whilst Emiline tried to disappear into the scenery, hovering by the sink.

Mitchell was ill at ease. He'd had – perhaps – the most realistic grasp about the implications of being a suspect in a murder, and the stress of those purgatory days still hadn't worn off. He glanced cautiously at the ghost by the sink, but returned his eyes quickly to his plate as she caught him looking. Now, he realised, his focus was back on the girl and unless some other major upset happened any time soon he was not going to be able to keep his mind off her. Mitchell he tried not to picture her as he did when he was half asleep, helpless, bleeding and semi-clad.

"Mitchell?" Annie said, clicking her fingers in front of Mitchell's face. He'd been staring at the ghost again, and everybody had noticed.

"Oh, sorry;" he replied, forcing a smile "lost in thought."

"You looked it."

One of the problems was the intrigue surrounding Emiline; she could be – whilst friendly – quite closed about her life. Mitchell knew that she wouldn't have told them as much about herself if occasion hadn't demanded it; she'd certainly tried to avoid telling them about her cause of death, and it had only been through his blundering – or premonition as he preferred to think of it – that they'd found out. Mitchell's curiosity had got the better of him a couple of days before and he'd 'researched' her, even going down to the new family heritage library he'd privately scorned, in the hope the might have had something on a Maude Emiline Woods. It had been of little help. One of the people there had offered to try and find something from another district archive, but he'd refused, saying it was just a casual interest; he had no wish of drawing any more attention to himself at the moment than was absolutely necessary.

They finished up and Annie cleared the plates, getting ready to dry whilst Emiline cleaned. At least in that relationship, things seemed to be getting simpler. Mitchell stopped her:

"I'll do it." he said, taking the drying towel from Annie, who shrugged and followed Nina and George next door to watch the tele.

Mitchell smiled and positioned himself next to Emiline, glad of the excuse to stand close to the ghost. She filled the washing up bowl with hot water and squeezed some washing liquid in. There wasn't, at first, much for Mitchell to do, so he put the towel on the sideboard and linked his arm tentatively round Emiline's waist. She ignored him and continued scrubbing. She rinsed the plate she'd been cleaning and held it out to be dried. Mitchell sighed, took the plate and rubbed it dry. This was beginning to remind him of the other night, when Annie had interfered.

They continued with the same silent routine until all the crockery was clean and Emiline pulled the plug out of the sink. The ghost turned around to Mitchell.

"What do you want?" she asked, but not harshly. It was a mere question with no mean intent behind it. Mitchell thought of a way to reply before saying simply:

"This." He bent down and kissed the ghost for a mere few seconds, before pulling straightening; there was no need to let lust scare the girl off. Mitchell waited for a response but was given none; the ghost just walked through to join the others as if nothing had happened. Mitchell wondered if it even had, or whether it had just been a figment of his imagination. '_No,_' he thought, the kiss had been real (you couldn't just imagine that cold touch) '_but she just ignored it!_' Mitchell couldn't gauge her reaction, or even non-reaction. He felt hurt by the way she'd rejected him like that, but perhaps if it hadn't been rejection at all, just shock… Three things were clear to him now: the first was that he should leave the ghost be for a couple of days, so she would have time to reason with what had just happened; the second that he had to make Emiline respond to him, if only to acknowledge that there were feelings of some kind on both sides; the third was that – to make the previous possible – he would have to be left alone with the girl.

Mitchell bit his lip and went to sit with the others in the living room. He didn't watch the tele though, instead fixing his gaze on Emiline, completely oblivious to his attentions.


	31. Chapter 31 Realisation

_Chapter 31 – Realisation_

Emiline watched Mitchell from the edge of the bed. She'd made a habit of it, these past few days, and now she knew that it was safe to leave him. She'd seen his brow knit up, heard his teeth grind, and it had worried her. Now he rested peacefully, his face giving no indication as to his dreams, but still she stayed. She felt a tug of loneliness; through her whole life, wherever she'd been and whoever she'd been with, she'd always been alone. Even here, even now, she was separate from the others. She felt how she sapped off them, those around her who were – comparatively – alive and she couldn't bear it. Regardless of what either Annie or Mitchell had said, she knew it was high time that she left.

~X~

_"Killer, Mitchell… you're a killer!" The voice said. The vampire took no offence as he sank his teeth in deeper. His victim was Emiline, and she smelled fresh and alive, though that could not possibly be. He sneered at the girl and unbuttoned her dress and underwear, burying his face in her chest. She struggled, but couldn't get away. He stripped away the rest of her underclothing, and then the dream faded._

Mitchell started awake. For a moment he didn't know why, but his senses were all telling him that he was not alone in his bed. He licked his lips, pondering what to do next. He turned, fangs out and ready, but found nobody there. There had been somebody there though, he was sure of it. The covers were bunched and there was a slight indentation in the sheet. Mitchell touched the place in question, trying to gauge from the warmth how long ago the intruder had left. The sheet was ice cold.

Mitchell sat up in bed and flung his legs over the side. His mouth was dry and he wanted a drink; more specifically, he wanted a drink of blood. He ran his hand through his hair and thought; either he'd had a restless night and the other side of the sheet was cold because of him, or... but he wasn't going to contemplate that too much. The thought of Emiline being in his bed for any other reason than to feed him was, quite literally, insane. An attractive thought, but insane nonetheless.

Mitchell ran his hand through his hair. He'd been having dreams – disturbing dreams – about the ghost. He could never quite remember them, but one thing he was sure of was that they included a lot of two things: the first being great pools and sprays of blood; the second, an awful lot of bare flesh. Mitchell's head was sending out alarm bells, but the rest of his body was telling him other things.

Mitchell got up and stretched, then pulled on his clothes. He didn't have time for a lie-in that day.

They all went out that morning, all except Emiline. They'd found her by the radio at 8 o'clock, still listening, hopping from station to station. They'd sighed, leaving her behind. Mitchell had been the most unwilling to leave her alone, but his shifts at the hospital prevented him from staying with her. However, he would be back first and he hoped to catch her alone. He wanted to be with her, the only girl who'd ever saved his life.

Mitchell's wishes were fulfilled when he dashed in the door still wearing his scrubs, even though they weren't supposed to leave the hospital with them on. He was tempted just to stop there, and go to where she sat in the living room, but said scrubs weren't exactly the most practical or attractive of clothing.

"I'm going upstairs to change. I'll be back down in a moment, okay?" He turned to go, but Emiline called him back with a non-comitial mumble.

"I'm… going to leave." She said, not looking up. The radio blared away to itself.

"What?"

"It's nothing to do with Annie – I know you probably imagine it is – I just think it's for the best."

"What?" Mitchell repeated.

"Look, there are some things about me which… perhaps you don't know. I can't stay, Mitchell; I just sap all the happiness out of everything." Mitchell wanted to go to her, to pull her to him, to pull her to the floor, but he went to take his shower instead. He berated himself for his cowardice and resolved to make Emiline see sense.

Mitchell returned to find Emiline still listening to the radio.

"Why are you even listening to that rubbish?" He asked. Emiline shrugged.

"It passes the time. They're playing music from the seventies and eighties on this station today."

"I can tell."

"It was the fifties and sixties yesterday, and the thirties and forties the day before."

The presenter announced the next two tunes, the latter making Mitchell smirk. He didn't recognise the former, but he the one after was what could only be referred to as a 'last dance' tune. It was a sad, slow one.

"God, I remember this next song." Mitchell said as the last few bars of the first tune faded out. "Good old last dance number."

"Last dance?" Emiline asked.

"What, you've never… it's the song they play at the end of a dance to give everybody a chance to squish up against the night's dance partner."

"Oh," she replied "I don't believe I ever went to a dance."

"Well, we can't have that."

He grabbed her, rather more forcefully than he had intended, and pulled her into classic slow-dance position. She jumped in shock and her natural trajectory would have taken her away from him, but his grasp held her. The music began.

"See, it's not that exciting to be honest." He said, shuffling from foot to foot and turning them both round on the spot.

As they 'danced', he noticed the difference in their build; Emiline seemed fragile and breakable in her current state. She was so exquisitely small, and again he got the sense of her being no more than a child. She looked up at him, and the impression of childhood was further enhanced by her perfect, tiny features. Mitchell swallowed hard as Emiline gave him the Bambi-eyed look, pulling in her lower lip by the tiniest amount. '_Why do you always look so sad?_' It was almost unbearable to watch. He lifted a finger to the corner of her mouth, pulling it up in an attempt to make her smile. The result was unimpressive, so he let his hand fall, tracing a line down the edge of her jawbone, to the bottom of her ear, down the jugular. The song ended, and they stopped moving, but he did not draw his hand away. He felt close to something, the gauze over his memory returning, the frustration biting at him.

"That's where I bite, normally." He said, pushing at where the blood vessel would have throbbed. She nodded, signalling nothing. He continued to finger her neck, the temptation growing, and started to run his finger slowly down her collar bone. On reaching the small dip in the middle, he let his hand stray, finding its way down to the top button on her dress. He hesitated no more than a millisecond before deftly undoing it. She didn't move, but stared up at him, small and frightened. Her lack of response gave him false encouragement and he progressed to the next one. Again, she did nothing but look on, paralysed. He finished the work and slipped the dress off her shoulder. He pushed her to the floor, pulled off her shoes and stockings, lifted the skirt of the dress and ran his hand up her inner thigh. Emiline moved suddenly, coming to life. She tried to pull away, but too late.

He pushed her away, and she tried to cover herself back up, but of course the damage was done.

"You…" Mitchell said, but couldn't finish. It all came back to him now – the veil lifted, the memory flooded back. For there, where he'd rested his hand was the double scar of a vampire bite. And he remembered, and all he could do was hate and hate and hate. Mitchell hated himself for what he'd done to her, hated Herrick for what he'd done to him, and hated the First World War for starting the whole bloody thing off in the first place. She covered her face, not bothering with trying to do the dress up again, what with the horrible evidence revealed.

"You lied to me." Mitchell whispered, still unbelieving.

"No," she said "no please don't say that." She was crying now. Mitchell had seen the ghost in a pretty bad way before, but never had he seen her actually cry. Both were distraught. Her wrists bled, crying with her eyes, spilling onto the floor. He went to her and clung to her in spite of himself, needing to share in the grief.

The blood spilled over them in torrents, and the vampire gave in. The pain and the sadness were too much and left him defenceless against the temptation. Pain gave way to guilty pleasure, but even that did not satisfy Mitchell. The blood flow was not strong enough, not fast enough, so he made his way to the other scars. The vampire bit and drank, making the girl lurch and cry out. To Mitchell's surprise, the blood spilled easily and he drank without reservation, ignoring her frightened jerking. This was what it was all about! Not love, not eternity, just the feeding. Mitchell let out a sigh of relief as he swallowed the last dregs of blood and slumped down next to the ghost.

~X~

_Mitchell awoke to banging on the door. He was soon alert and aware of what had just happened. He turned to the girl on the floor, dead and pointless. He sneered at her, and at how pathetic the whole human race was. He buttoned up her dress, seeing little point in giving the police a head start and licked the few smudges of blood left on her inside leg; he hated leaving too much blood on the victim – it was sloppy work and so wasteful._

_A voice called through the door:_

_ "Excuse me madam, but you only reserved a one night stay at this hotel, and we have another guest waiting. I am going to have to ask you to leave right now or call the police. Madam… madam!" Mitchell recognised the voice of Mr Gareth, the hotel manager he sneered again. "Right madam, I'm afraid I'm going to have to call the police!" It would be hours before the police got round to the petty affairs of the hotel, by which point Mitchell would be gone, left by train. Let them make what they would of the whole thing. He heard the stupid man leave, and bolted out after him, wiping his mouth on his sleeve._

~X~

Mitchell fingered the two huge scars in Emiline's inner thigh. He couldn't understand why he hadn't remembered her, why he hadn't realised. He shook his head; why Emiline had been at such pains to keep it secret he didn't know. She hadn't stirred, so – with a sense of finality – Mitchell had carried her up to his bedroom and set her down under the coverlet, climbing in beside her. He wasn't worried for her (she would revive herself sometime) but was angry nonetheless that she had kept her true cause of death for all this time.

He'd started work at that hotel only a couple of weeks before her arrival and had left soon after. He'd only been working there for enough money for the alcohol with which he supplemented his diet (stealing was hardly against his morals, but it could be easier just to have the cash to hand over, especially when there were lots of people around) Mitchell remembered the event in minute detail now, right down to the pleasant way she had arched as he bit her. He'd been employed as a porter and had been returning to the foyer after bringing up a suitcase for another customer when he'd smelt the blood. Mitchell recalled how he hadn't had a drink for several days, unusual for him at that time, and how he'd barely been able to control himself enough to not just kick the door in. One of the benefits of being a porter there had been that he'd had access to the keys for every room, something which came in extremely useful for stealing things from rich guests. He'd sprinted to the reception desk and pinched the key for the room in question, and of course nobody had asked him any questions.

When Mitchell had entered, he'd found that the girl had hardly bled at all. That was, the floor around her was covered and her dress was drenched, but she'd had plenty left in her and a while left to live. The mistake most people made when trying to cut their wrists was that they didn't apply enough pressure when they drew the blade across. They spilt enough blood to look scary, but it could take ages for them to die. The vampire recognised the girl as the one who had signed herself in as 'Maude E. Woods'. Mitchell had been surprised at the name, it seeming too ugly and old-fashioned for such a pretty young girl. He hadn't pondered long though, it not being of much importance to him. He'd locked the door behind him and gone to the girl.

"Oh god" she'd uttered "don't save me. Don't try and save me – this is best."

"Oh, don't worry," he'd replied "I have no intention of prolonging your life." She'd looked up at him, confused; she clearly hadn't expected that answer.

~X~

_The vampire usually made a habit of having sex with his female victims before draining them, but he didn't have the time with this one. He did want her though – she was so young, so innocent. It wasn't easy to come across girls who were both innocent and willing to go with him to a private little back alley. Mitchell laughed, deciding to play with her a bit first, just to scare her. _

_Mitchell grabbed the girl's wrists and held them tightly (it would slow the blood flow a little, if not much) with one hand whilst unbuttoning her dress with the other. Her pupils dilated with fear as he rubbed his rough fingers over her small body. She made as if to scream, but Mitchell stopped her by clamping his mouth over hers. She could only struggle and make small, strangled noises, but she soon gave in to the vampire. To Mitchell's surprise, the girl started to do what could only be described as kissing him back. Their lips moved together in synchronicity and Mitchell straddled the girl, now slipping his free hand up her skirt to tug at her underwear._

_But the call of the blood was stronger than that of lust and Mitchell left his pursuit to bury his face now in her wrists. He sucked, but the flow was not fast enough to satisfy his need. He thought quickly, contemplating tearing out her throat, but dismissed the idea, passing it off as being too conspicuous. Mitchell smiled and returned to where he had left off, attacking the major blood vessel in the groin. He'd learnt that trick from a former victim of his who'd been a Spanish surgeon. He'd told him that the cause of death for most bullfighters was being speared in the groin, due to the fact there was a large blood vessel there, very near the surface of the skin. She writhed, whether in fear or pain the vampire could not tell. He reached up and held her body still, not detaching his mouth from where he was drinking. She either couldn't or wouldn't cry out, perhaps because of embarrassment, perhaps not. The girl's struggling abated and she passed out, leaving Mitchell with less than a minute's worth of blood left to drain. He ceased as her heart stopped and then flopped down beside her, gaining some last small pleasure from lying next to the body. He closed his eyes and congratulated himself on a job well done. What they said about virgin's blood tasting better than other people's was all lies, but the blood of a girl still on the edge of adulthood, still pure, was unquestionably the best type. Something about the hormones present in the blood made it extremely… rich._

_Mitchell half recognised the girl, realising that she was from the local area. He'd seen her around before, always looking miserable. She'd often been on the arm of a complete fool in whom she was obviously completely disinterested and Mitchell had noticed how, on seeing him pass, her eyes had lit up. Actually, now he thought about it, he'd seen her waiting around outside the hotel, usually trying to hide behind a tree and had always looked overjoyed whenever he went outside for a cigarette. It explained why the girl had given in to Mitchell so easily – she'd had a silly, childish infatuation with him, and though it hadn't been what she'd wanted, his contact had been too much for her to resist. She was probably lonely, stupid thing. For a moment, Mitchell felt one tiny hint of compassion and sympathy, but it was soon lost._

~X~

Emiline coughed, her ghostly half-life restarting itself. She thrashed for a minute, struggling with the pain of consciousness. Mitchell did nothing, and simply lay with his head propped on his hand, watching the ghost. Eventually, she recovered.

"Mitchell…" Emiline turned towards the vampire. He grunted a response, still seeing her dead, lifeless body before him in his mind's eye.

"I'm sorry… for keeping it from you. I didn't want to loose you."

"Loose me? Look, it's alright; I don't care anymore, I'm just sorry about what I did to you." He knew he could have saved her, could have given her eternal life… but then nobody should be damned to his bloodthirsty existence. He could have saved her properly, though, could have called an ambulance. They would have been able to stop the bleeding, surely.

"No Mitchell – I would have died anyway." Yes, she would have died and preventing that would have been tantamount to simply prolonging her life – she would have just had to go through the whole thing again. The ghost had wanted to commit suicide because she'd been miserable, and nothing Mitchell could have done would have changed that.

Mitchell rested his head back down on the pillow, his face just inches away from the ghost's.

"Were you serious about leaving?" he asked her.

"I was…" Emiline began. Mitchell waited for her to add 'but not anymore', but the sentence was left hanging, without an ending.

"Do you remember what happened?" Mitchell asked after a while.

"When?"

"Do you remember what happened when I killed you?" he clarified.

"I remember every minute of it in minute detail. One thing always surprised me though; why didn't you finish what you started?" She said, pushing a strand of hair off his face. He swallowed the lust that her fairy-light touch brought up in him.

"What do you mean?"

"You had me at your mercy, and you were tugging at my… underwear." She said, finishing in an embarrassed whisper. Mitchell wished that he could tell her that he'd stopped himself, that he'd intentionally preserved her virginity, but he knew it wasn't true.

"You were loosing blood too quickly," he said "I had to choose between a drink and defiling you. I'm pleased I decided on the drink." He said, returning the favour and pulling some stray strands of hair from her face.

"Oh." She said looking down, disappointed.

"But you know Em," Mitchell continued "I never did like leaving something unfinished." She looked up at him, uncertain of his meaning.

Mitchell planted a kiss first on Emiline's mouth, then her neck, teasing her. He looked back up at her face.

"Shall we?" he said. They both burst into laughter, suddenly understanding. They could never really be together, not with their situation as it was. It would be hasty and pointless to consummate a relationship that was so clearly doomed from the start. Mitchell had fallen down at the first hurdle by killing the girl, and then by not even remembering he'd done it when she'd come back for him all those years later.

"You know I love you." Mitchell said, making Emiline pull away from him.

"No, Mitchell, I don't think so; whatever we might have, I don't think it's love."

"Then what is it?" He asked, not believing that she could say such a thing "And if it's not love, then why do I feel like I'm burning whenever I think of your leaving?" He said, taking the ghost's hand and pressing it to where the rhythm of his heart should have been felt. Emiline sighed and – pulling away her hand – turned over.

"I don't know, Mitchell. Guilt perhaps? Loneliness? Hunger?" Emiline muttered. Mitchell snorted at the last option.

"Surely you don't think that I just see you as my blood slave?"

"I don't know; do you?"

"Don't be like that; of course I don't."

Mitchell waited, but it seemed that he would have to be the one to break the silence.

"What is it then? What am I feeling for you?" he asked, pulling her back over to face him. "What are _we _feeling? Don't tell me it's just me who has this." Emiline thought for a minute.

"Intensity," she said "and nothing more."

The ghost's wrists were bleeding again, and the vampire drank from her without hesitation. He soon moved to her mouth again, enjoying the sensation of kissing her.


	32. Chapter 32 The Past Repeats Itself

_Chapter 32 – The Past Repeats Itself_

"For god's sake!" Mitchell cried.

"Shush!" Emiline replied "You'll wake the others."

They'd tried hard to act normally that night, Mitchell having dinner with the others and Emiline hanging around awkwardly as usual. No questions had been asked, but it was clear that neither had much skill in the acting department. George had glanced surreptitiously from the ghost to the vampire and back again and Annie kept beginning sentences with 'So what did...' and 'Why are you…' which she then neglected to finish. Mitchell and Emiline had both silently acknowledged the need for discretion, at least until they knew what they were going to do about their new situation. They'd all retired to bed early that night, and it hadn't occurred to Annie to ask what Emiline was doing as she followed the vampire upstairs.

"What is this, this… _obsession _you've developed? Why are you so keen to leave?" Mitchell hissed.

"It is not an obsession Mitchell; I think it's the best thing for us."

"Us?"

"Yes – you and me… and George and Nina and Annie."

The vampire flopped down on his bed and the ghost shifted to sit at his feet. He sighed; he'd heard of warped logic, but this… was in another league. He propped up his head with a pillow so that he could look at Emiline.

"I don't know why we're having this discussion again."

"That's how it works." The ghost replied.

"What? Look, it's out of the question. God knows why you've got it in your head that you should leave, but for fuck's sake don't use me as a reason or even a justification for the notion." He muttered angrily. He saw her flinch at the use of the swear word, something he'd never noticed before. He thought about apologising, but dismissed the idea, not being in the mood for good manners and small talk.

"It's not an excuse."

"Oh, screw it; I love you. Why can't you see that?"

"Now who's covering old ground? I thought we cleared that matter up." Emiline replied, shaking her head.

Mitchell snorted.

They stayed stationary for a while, each left to their own brooding. Eventually, after Mitchell could stand the silence no longer, he sat up, saying

"I'm going to bed then." He began to take his shirt off, but stopped when he saw that the ghost had turned away to let him undress. The vampire ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

"What's the matter now? I've seen you with not too much on, I'm not going to get embarrassed if you watch me get changed. Jesus!"

"Maybe not, but I would."

"Oh for fuck's sake!"

They waited to be interrupted by one of the other inhabitants of the house, either angry at being woken, or Annie, curious as to the origin of the sound (after a while of being an invisible dead person, even the sound of someone swearing louder than normal could be interesting), but nothing stirred in the house. Mitchell let out a sigh through his teeth.

"So this is it, is it? We just keep going over old territory again and again until one of us goes mad? I want you to stay, you want to go, we argue, we argue some more, you bleed, I feed, we kiss and fall into bed for five minutes of blind fumbling? Well, I'm sorry, but I just can't accept that." Mitchell said, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt until he got annoyed and just ripped the thing off, sending the buttons flying. Emiline just stared.

"What?" he grunted, unzipping his jeans and kicking of his shoes.

"I thought you understood, Mitchell." She said, swallowing.

"Understood what?"

The vampire climbed under the covers and longed for company; climbing into an empty bed lost its novelty after a few years. He was about to turn over and knuckle down for a long night of faked deep sleep when he caught sight of the ghost out of the corner of his eye. His heart leapt and somersaulted when he saw a sparkling tear fall from her face to the floor. Emiline turned away, embarrassed. He cursed himself; he didn't want to be hurting her, it defeated the whole point of being in love.

"Come here, Em." He murmured, beckoning in the dark.

Emiline drifted over to the bed and sank down into Mitchell's arms. He kissed her hair absent-mindedly, breathing in her non-existent scent. It was like a heady perfume, and for a moment Mitchell was lost in it.

"What was it you thought I understood?"

The ghost hesitated, burying a tear-streaked face in Mitchell's neck.

"Do you remember one of the first days I was here, a couple of months ago? I was looking at the photo album."

"Yes," he replied "of course I remember."

"The conversation, Mitchell; we're all locked in one never-ending pattern."

The room and the bed and the ghost disconnected. _Click – 1914, signing up for war_.

"How old are you?" the man behind the desk asked. The boy in front thought for a moment.

"19, Sir" he stammered, unsure of himself.

"Sign here then. Next! You; what's your name."

"John Mitchell."

_Click – June 1940, Evacuation from Dunkirk._ Mitchell snorted at the headlines. The elderly woman behind the counter shook her head.

"It's all happening again you see." She muttered. He had no idea what she meant.

_Click – V.E day, copulating under some bushes._ The girl moaned and shuddered as the vampire bit her.

"I thought you said they'd be no funny business…" she groaned as her life-force drained.

_Click – 1960-something, Josie's bedroom._ Mitchell pulled away at the last minute.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't do this anymore Josie; one of these days I'll snap and then… that will be the end."

_Click – a couple of years ago, Lauren's room. _The girl was soft and warm against his cold skin. As they reached climax, the vampire could hold out no longer. He sank his teeth into her neck.

_Click – Here and now, half naked beside a suicidal ghost._ Emiline sighed.

He thought for a while, remembering the past few months of circulating torture, of the repetition: the heavy, sick feeling of desperate need, the familiarity of the blood, repeated conversations, standing behind Emiline at the sink.

"You're right." Mitchell choked.

"I know." She said.

They kissed and he drank with the ache of loss in his heart, with the force of the last time. The withdrawal symptoms that he knew he faced would be hard enough to deal with in any normal situation without the added difficulty of being in love with his victim. Or being in… whatever it was. Intensity? Was it possible to be 'in intensity'? It didn't matter. What _did_ matter was the two had to part and Mitchell could do nothing about it.

~X~

The early morning was crisp and cold, not unlike that fateful morning when George had first seen Emiline. The ghost did not remember this, but if she had, she would have seen the subtle irony in it. Mitchell closed the door behind them and they strolled to the corner of the street together.

"I really can't convince you to stay?" Mitchell murmured, aware that there may be people out already.

"Mitchell, please."

"I know, I know." He said sighing.

They slowed to a halt.

"So…" she said, not wanting to be the one finalise.

"So, this is it." Mitchell finished for her "What will you do?"

"I don't know really," she said, staring into the distance "perhaps I'll go to university."

"Uni? For you?"

"I did say I got a place at Exeter."

"I don't think the nightlife would suit you." He said, grinning "But really, what will you do now?"

"I wasn't joking Mitchell." The ghost grumbled.

They hesitated.

"So… this is it." Mitchell repeated. He hated the way he said it, it made him sound like a stock character from a stupid, poor quality chick-flick formula. She nodded her response, and stood on tiptoe to brush a strand of hair from Mitchell's face.

The vampire froze as a neighbour rounded the corner. He cleared his throat.

"Hello, nice day!" he said brightly to the rather confused-looking girl. It was alright though; she probably already thought that he was an escapee from the insane asylum owing to the fact that he'd invited everybody round within a few months of living at the house. Mitchell watched her go inside her own house. He turned back to the ghost.

"Goodbye, Mitchell."

Mitchell cupped the ghosts face in his hand, and she reached up to touch his. They kissed once more.

"Will I ever see you again?" He asked in between kisses, cursing himself for that awful clichéd way of speaking. He made a mental note not to fall asleep in front of the tele again; he was sure it just diffused into you brain without your permission.

"Oh, I'll be here for a while," she said "I'll keep popping up like a bad penny."

He gripped the ghost tightly round the waist, and she ran her hands through his hair.

"Sorry," she said as they came apart "I've left blood on your face."

"Goodbye." Mitchell said with finality, shaking his head to indicate that it didn't matter. It was a messy ending.

"Goodbye." Emiline replied with a sad smile. She walked round the corner so that he couldn't see her, and then disappeared.

Mitchell walked the few yards back to the house and let himself in quietly. Luckily, Annie wasn't there to see him come in. He crept up to the bathroom and washed the blood from his face, then padded back to his room and crawled under the covers. '_The course of true love never did run smooth_,' he mused. '_Cliché…_ _yes, cliché; the past repeats itself._' He whispered it aloud:

"The past repeats itself.'


End file.
